


Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas

by PrinceMalice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bela is up to something, Bobby and Jody are a thing, Cas has a radio show, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Long Distance Pining, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Silk - Freeform, Sleepless in Seattle, Slow Build, Some angst, based on a movie, crowley's pretty much crowley, dean is lonely, john winchester is terrible, radio show au, ruby meddles, self help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceMalice/pseuds/PrinceMalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Um, yes, hi. My name is Sam and I’m calling from Lawrence, Kansas.”</p><p>A new voice... Castiel loved new voices. They always had new stories to tell.</p><p>“Kansas… well, it’s not really midnight down there, is it? What keeps you up?” he asked.</p><p>“I’m worried about my brother, Dean.”</p><p> </p><p>"Destiny is something we've invented because we can't stand the fact that everything that happens is accidental." - Sleepless in Seattle</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We are all subject to gravity

**Author's Note:**

> New project time! I really wanted to write a radio show AU. This is heavily inspired by the movie Sleepless in Seattle, although there are obvious differences. For updates, you can follow me on tumblr as Prince-Malice or on twitter @PrinceMalice 
> 
> I will be tweeting about the progress of this story and answering any questions (spoiler free, obviously) so if you would like to contact me there, feel free!
> 
> Plus, bless my beta, sunflowerseedswag, she is wonderful!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I now have a tumblr dedicated entirely to my fanfiction, so no more rifling through my fandom blog! Follow me for updates at MaliceLikesToWrite(dot)tumblr(dot)com

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter one – We are all subject to gravity

 

Castiel’s favorite thing about the studio was the translucent blanket of gold light that settled over his workspace. He showed up just past eleven with a half-caf cup of joe and a sourdough bagel, flickered on the overhead lamp, and gazed at his empty chair. He sat in it, letting its aged creak warm him with familiarity.

He was alone, like always, and the silence was so gaping that each of his own exhales sounded like a wave crashing against the shore. The lights of the console lit up, a series of blinking controls, and Castiel slipped his headphones on. They settled against his ears perfectly where their shape had been molded into the soft leather over the years. He couldn’t bear to replace them. He had a tendency to hold on to such things.

Castiel ran the edge of his thumb across the silver knob that controlled the ‘ _On Air_ ’ sign. No one would interrupt him, but the sound of it like two tumblers clicking together was the most satisfying moment of each night. Collecting his breath and sipping at his coffee, Castiel tossed the switch and let its _thunk_ hit his stomach. The black numbers on the clock to his left shuttered to midnight and the vast quiet of the studio filled with his rumbling voice.

“Thank you for tuning in to our nationwide broadcast. We’re live at midnight in Seattle, Washington. This is Midnight Matters.”

-

_“It’s not as though the world is determined to drag us down, but it may often feel that way. When you become convinced that everything is working against you, remind yourself, we are all subject to gravity.”_

“Are you listening to that radio show again? You know that guy is full of shit, right?”

The little house in Lawrence, Kansas was the only one on its street with every light left on. Inside, Dean fished through his fridge for the fourth time that night, frowning when its contents had not changed. Beside him, his younger brother, Sam, fiddled with the antennae of their out-of-date radio. The voice that drifted from the other end was distorted by static and only every other sentence or so that he said could be understood.

“Shut up, Dean. You just hate radio shows. If you actually _listened_ to this one, you’d probably like it,” Sam said, cringing as a sharp whistle erupted from the seemingly harmless device.

“It’s a sign. Shut it off.”

“You don’t believe in signs!”

Dean watched his brother make a fool of himself before he ambled over.

“You forgot to close the fridge.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Dean said, sliding into the chair beside him.

“You’re letting out the cold.”

“Sam, are you seriously, like, five?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and stuck his lip out. Dean’s expression remained tight. Sam stood up to close the fridge, but instead he stared into its blinking abyss of milk and eggs and unidentifiable leftovers wrapped in tin foil, labeled with initials of which the meaning had long been forgotten.

“ _Don’t ever feel the need to look at yourself in the mirror and criticize what you see. If everyone spends all their time hating themselves, how is anything ever going to get done?_ ” the voice on the radio said.

Dean raised an eyebrow and although Sam hadn’t faced him, his shoulders still tensed.

“He’s not wrong.”

“He sounds like a fortune cookie.”

After tampering with the contraption’s various dials and the old bent metal of the antennae, Dean finally decided to place it on the very top of the entertainment center, on the East end of the house. Instantaneously, the room flooded with crisp, uninterrupted words.

“ _As a child, there was no way for you to know where it was that you would end up. People ask you about your dreams and ambitions and although it all seems pointless, there is no greater sadness than when they stop asking. It makes you feel as if those same ambitions are no longer important or realistic. They tell a child who wants to be President to grasp tightly to that dream and revel in its security of a place to belong one day. You get older though, and that’s where the real trouble starts. A college student says they want to be president, their mentor says to quit dreaming, that they should be more concerned about their future and should not waste time mulling over fantasies._ ”

Sam and Dean sat on their weathered couch, Sam with his legs crossed broadly and Dean in the broken corner that he loved to sink into. The TV was on, but muted, and neither man paid attention to the black and white western. They each drank a beer and Dean shifted as if adjusting beneath the weight of the words that painted their walls. The sinkhole began to seem less inviting and more consuming.

“ _Aspirations are losing their value, and what do you have left when you have lost the ability to dream? Do you sit at home, on your old hand-me-down couch, and think about all the promises your parents made, the times they swore that you were capable of anything? Does the thought sting?_ ”

“I’m going to bed,” Dean snapped, dragging himself up. Sam looked to follow in his example, but a wave of his brother’s hand kept him in place. Sam would let his brother storm off, it was the only way Dean ever really got his feelings out.  

“ _It’s time to take callers. Who have I got on the line?_ ”

“ _Hello, my name is Aaron and I’m from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.”_

_“Hello, Aaron. How can I help you today?”_

_“Well, I guess I just wanted to ask about children who_ did _know what life had in store for them, because their parents planned it all out. What about their ambitions or satisfaction?”_

_“That’s a marvelous question, Aaron.”_

-

Castiel never tired of his job. At 2AM, he flicked the ‘ _On Air’_ switch off, tossed his empty coffee cup in the bin, and shrugged his tan overcoat on. It was repetitive, yes, but it was a path worn down so well he knew the steps by heart. When Castiel turned off the light, the cold of the barren studio lapped at his ankles. Every night, it was harder to walk away.

The silence followed Castiel home like a stray cat or pesky shadow. His door groaned open and his living room was bland, save a couch and his answering machine’s blinking light.

“ _Great show tonight, Cassie, but I still think you need to ramp it up a bit. Don’t you think you’ve been riding this ‘self help’ wave for a bit too long? Call me back!_ ”

The voice shut off and the sharp tone of the woman behind the machine alerted Castiel that he had no other messages.

He sunk into his couch, old but still useful, once his brother’s, and let out a heavy sigh. 

-

“Hello, you’re on live with Midnight Matters, to whom am I addressing?” Castiel asked, adjusting the wire of his headphones that he had somehow wrapped around his arm.

_“Um, yes, hi. My name is Sam and I’m calling from Lawrence, Kansas.”_

A new voice... Castiel loved new voices. They always had new stories to tell.

“Kansas… well, it’s not really midnight down there, is it? What keeps you up?” he asked.

_“I’m worried about my brother, Dean.”_

Castiel tried to ignore the pull at his chest, the memory of his own brothers, of whom he had mostly grown apart. Family stung that way.

“Is he in some sort of trouble?”

_“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I’m about to leave for college and we’ve never really been apart.”_

“Sam,” Castiel said, the panic that had begun to swell within him diminished. He could not fight back a smile at such a perfect, ordinary sadness. “Leaving home is one of those inevitable things. Of course your family will miss you, but Dean will be alright. Life goes on, and you’ll come back.”

Or he wouldn’t.

_“That’s just it. I’m sort of all he’s got. I’m scared he’s just going to sit around all day and… be alone.”_

“Have you spoken to him about this yet?”

_“What? God, no. we don’t talk about… feelings. It’s one of his pet peeves.”_

Castiel tried to stifle a laugh. He rested his chin on a clenched fist and gazed at the microphone as if this _Sam_ was hiding within it.

“One of the biggest obstacles one might have about sharing their feelings is that they believe they are not worth being heard. Does your brother think he does not deserve to be heard?”

_“I didn’t think of it that way.”_

“It is easy to excuse reluctance as pride,” Castiel said, “But it is more difficult to assume that the problem runs deeper.” He rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, trying to press away the tightness of a caffeine-induced headache. “Especially when concerning a loved one.”

“ _Um, thanks. I’ll try to talk to him about it. I mean, I don’t think he’ll listen…_ ”

“He is your brother, I am certain that he values your feelings whether he’ll admit it or not.”

“ _Thanks.”_

“Of course. Do call back, Sam.”

Castiel set a Greg Holden song to play and refilled his cup. He forgot to put his usual two sugar packets in, but didn’t seem to notice as he listened to the strum of the guitar and took careful sips.

-

_“Your ratings have dropped recently. Don’t you think it’s time for a picker-upper, Cassie?”_

Castiel deleted the message and turned the TV on to an old, black and white western. The sound of gunshots and clattering horse hooves could not keep the man awake. He sank into his couch and buried his nose in the crook where the backboard met the armrest. It smelled like smoke still, after decades of his brother having quit.

Some parts of the past were permanent. They soaked a thousand polyester fibers, which singular, meant nothing, but together, wove something greater.

-

“ _He’s not listening to me._ ”

“How so?” Castiel asked, wrapping a rubber-band around his thumb and watching it turn purple.

“ _He said, ‘no chick-flick moments’, and then called me Samantha._ ”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

Always sorry.

“ _He’s acting like it’s no big deal, but he hasn’t even been sleeping lately.”_

“Aren’t you up late as well?”

“ _Yeah, but I work a night shift. He just, doesn’t sleep.”_

-

“Dean?” Sam called from the living room.

Dean buried his head into his hands. He wasn’t sure how much more of his brother’s hounding he could handle without snapping. It was bad enough that the brat was leaving, but if he left on a bad note? Dean wouldn’t forgive himself.

“I swear, Sam, if you wanna talk about my feelings again, I’m jumping out the window.” His bedroom door opened, he could feel his brother staring at his back and it burned where his eyes must have been. “What is it?”

“The phone. It’s for you.”

Dean turned to see Sam, his eyes the same innocent brown buttons as when he had been five and Dean had read him to sleep. He held out the cordless phone and wore an expression that Dean knew meant he was fighting guilt.

“Who is it?”

“Just… Just take it.”

-

“ _I’m going to kill him._ ”

“Calm down, Dean,” Castiel said, perking up. He’d never played mediator before, but surely the concept was the same. Pin-point the problem, guide them to a solution. He’d been doing that for years already. “Your brother is just concerned for you. Humor us both and participate at least for fifteen minutes.”

“ _I don’t want to complain on the phone about my problems to a stranger… to a bunch of strangers._ ”  

“You are alive, I do not see what you have to complain about,” Castiel said.

 _“I don’t_ have _any complaints, but Sammy here seems to think I’m just one big bag of problems.”_

“Is he there with you?”

_“No, he’s in the other room. Eavesdropping, no doubt.”_

Castiel has spoken to countless people in his years of hosting. It wasn’t until recently that he abandoned his morning slot for a midnight one, for which his coworker, Balthazar, had made him out to be crazy. He had to make the change. Castiel had already spoken to so many people that they all began to sound like the same angry, conceited person. By switching to a midnight slot, Castiel was assaulted with a variety of callers so unlike one another, that he began to remember their names, their vocal mannerisms, even the tone of their voices.

Dean’s voice was low, baritone. At some point, Castiel had begun to believe that Dean was the younger brother, but his voice severed that thought in seconds. He wondered if his faithful listeners had grown curious about the stranger, if they were startled by his obvious rough edges.

“Sam seems to think you need a friend,” Castiel said.

_“I’ve got friends, down at the roadhouse.”_

“Roadhouse?”

“ _Oh, yeah, it’s a restaurant and a bar that Ellen owns. If you’re listening, Ellen, free advertisement!”_

Castiel let out a laugh, covering his eyes with one large palm. His cheeks felt heated with glee.

“Who’s Ellen?”

_“Oh. She kind of raised me.”_

“Sam too?”

_“Nah, I raised Sam.”_

Castiel could almost hear the uncoiling of Dean’s nerves. He talked about his ‘baby’ brother, and how he had received a full ride scholarship to Stanford, at which the sound of aforementioned brother echoed through the line a shout of ‘ _don’t tell them that!’_ They bickered a moment, their words broken over the line, but then Dean was back, saying ‘ _sorry_ ’ and ‘ _if he’s gonna embarrass me, you can bet I’mma embarrass him._ ’

Even the blistering coffee in Castiel’s hand was not as warm as the sounds that seeped through his headphones.

Half an hour passed easily, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps what he had needed was a mediator after all.

“Dean, are you currently committed?” Castiel asked after their conversation simmered down.

_“Are you asking if I’m single?”_

“Yes.”

 _“Yeah I guess. I don’t really do the whole commitment thing.”_ Dean’s words carried a shrug with them.

“Why not?”

_“I’m just not used to things being long term.”_

“I am going to assume that extends beyond just relationships?”

_“Assume all you want.”_

Castiel frowned when Dean’s sharp, original tone returned. Their pleasant discussion had been forgotten.

 _“_ Sam is worried that you are lonely.”

_“Oh he is, is he?”_

“Do you listen to my show, Dean?” he asked, not sure how he’d feel about any answer.

_“Not really. Sammy loves it. He’s always leaving it on in the kitchen. I hear your voice a lot, so it’s sort of like I’m listening to it.”_

Castiel thought about the horse hooves that trampled him into sleep, the ring of gunshots that kissed the back of his neck so that the small hairs there stood. He thought about how, with that cacophony behind him, he could pretend that his apartment was not empty.

“Then, if you are lonely, let my voice keep you company.”

_“I’m not lonely. I’m fine, just having trouble sleeping is all.”_

“Then let me play you a song instead. Do you have any requests?”

“ _Surprise me._ ”

The very first notes rang out and Castiel heard a sharp intake of breath over the line.

“Is that okay?” he asked, aware that his and Dean’s voices were no longer on the air.

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

He let the song play through, _Hey Jude_ , and when it quivered to a close, Castiel realized that the calling hour had already ended. He mentioned a few last things, including “Remember, Lawrence, Kansas, I’m always going to be here,” and flipped off the ‘ _On Air_ ’ sign.


	2. Compassionate ears don’t pay the rent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, Cassie! With your ratings, you can’t afford to keep this up. You’re gonna crash and burn, or worse.”
> 
> “What’s worse?”
> 
> “The studio drops you altogether.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this chapter to tithe you over until I can finish a ten page essay I have due soon. Thanks so much to my beta, Sunflowerseedswag, and I hope you enjoy it.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter two – Compassionate ears don’t pay the rent

 

 “It’s a sign!” Sam shouted, taking one long leap over the couch. Dean still held the phone, the line already dead, listening to the surge of the Beatles from the radio perched on the entertainment center. Sam watched Dean’s expression, searching for even a shred of vulnerability. “Mom used to sing that to you, didn’t she? When you couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah, so?” Dean snapped, tossing the phone on the coffee table.

“ _So,_ maybe it means that you are supposed to listen to that show. You know... a sign.”

While sleeping, Dean could still sometimes feel the brush of his mother’s gold curls against his cheek, the way they had when she would lean down to kiss his forehead when he was little. Every night he’d wake up, brush his face with his knuckles, and _swear_ he felt it, even after so many years.

“I don’t believe in signs, remember?” he grumbled, flicking the light off and retreating to his room.

Sam stood in the dark, watching the vast plane of Dean’s undecorated door. Just as he stood to retire as well, the man’s voice rang out on the radio for the final time of the night.

_“Remember, Lawrence, Kansas, I’m always going to be here.”_

Sam darted his gaze from the radio to his brother’s room. He would have to remember to tell Dean about it in the morning.

-

Castiel only went into the office twice a week. He and his coworkers would discuss ratings, angles, and upcoming events before calling it a day, not bothering to see each other again until the next meeting.

He was pouring himself a cup of coffee, his third, and staring with narrowed eyes at a note stuck to the employee fridge with a candy-cane magnet.

“It’s October,” he said.

“I’m glad you like the magnet, but did you actually read the paper?”

Castiel turned to see Anna, her scorching red hair pulled back into a pomade ponytail. It was professional, but did her little justice. She was fairer than the week before, but even then she had been fairer than the week before that. Work was tough.

“Twelve hoppin’ new ideas for Midnight Matters- by Yours Truly,” Castiel read aloud. He skipped the dozen bullet points and just tore the sheet away. It crumpled easily in one hand and didn’t even hinder the satisfying sip of coffee he took as he destroyed it. “Balthazar just won’t leave it alone.”

“He thinks you need an edge,” Anna said, turning on the electric kettle. She was more of a tea drinker.

“I know. He leaves me a voicemail about it every day.” Except for the night before. The light that usually blinked so brazenly had stayed dark. Castiel thought that maybe Balthazar was running late, that he would call when he got the chance. When morning came and still no word, Castiel was convinced that the man was dead. It could be worse.

“It always warms my insides to know when people are talking about me.”

Well, not dead, then.

“Balthazar,” Castiel said. The man had short, sand-colored hair that was in a permanent state of cow-lick and large bags under his eyes that had been there since college. Behind him stood a much larger, dark-skinned man with his lips twisted in a permanent scowl. “And Uriel. Haven’t seen you come in for a while now.”

“Rarely do I feel the need to.”

Castiel didn’t hate Uriel. He felt towards him the way one might feel towards a splinter or biting too far down on one’s nails… an uncomfortable ache.

“You didn’t leave a message last night,” Castiel said, turning back to Balthazar.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t even listen to them,” Balthazar said. “But if you must know, I didn’t call because I was too busy sorting through the influx of emails and calls to the station that your little tryst last night warranted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Castiel didn’t know. Even Anna had a small, crooked smile.

“Shit, he really doesn’t.”

“Will you just tell me what you are talking about?” Castiel said, narrowing his eyes.

“Dean, from Lawrence, Kansas.”

“What about him?”

“Oh, nothing really, just, you know, I got four hundred emails last night asking about him. The phone was ringing off the hooks, inquiring as to whether or not _Dean_ would be okay or if we would hear from him again anytime soon.” Balthazar took Cas’ cup away from him and set it on the counter a bit too forcefully. “No big deal. Just the greatest spike in listeners since you changed slots.”

Castiel had to lean against the table while the information sank in. Midnight Matters had never been big. Castiel was seen by some of his coworkers as nothing more than a high school advice column and he accepted the ridicule. As long as he could ramble one-sided advice that he prayed meant something for two hours each night and play music that no one had any say over other than himself, he was happy. As many callers as he’d had, none made other listeners make themselves known the way Dean did.

Castiel wondered if it was Dean’s voice or the honest affection he harbored for his brother. What about Dean reached into others and drew out their desire to help him? Castiel didn’t know, but whatever it was, he felt it, too - like fingers tugging him by the belt-loops, no longer in control of his own center of gravity.

“Will we be hearing from him again?” Balthazar asked.

“It depends on whether or not he decides to call again.”

Uriel rolled his bloodshot eyes. “What’s it like hosting a radio show that caters to simpering fools who are unable to care for themselves?”

Castiel’s shoulders tightened.

“ _Really_ , I’d love to know.”

“Shut it, Uriel,” Anna said, fixing her tea. “I like Dean. There is something heartwarming about him.”

“You sound like just another desperate woman. It must be nice to be unmarried at, what is it? Thirty-two? Thirty-three?”

“That’s enough of that,” Balthazar interrupted, stepping in front of Uriel. “You’re here for business, remember? Or have you forgotten in your petty, schoolyard dispute?”

Uriel snorted, but left it at that.

“Anyway. Instead of just arguing like a bunch of twats, I actually have a proposition to make.”

Castiel watched Balthazar with a grimace. He had guessed that it would come to this.

“I think I found you a new show.”

“What?”

Of all the stupid contests and advertisement ploys, Balthazar had never suggested Castiel _drop_ his slot.

“You wouldn’t be the head. I mean, you’d have to work your way up. It’s all political, and it’s the perfect opportunity for you to get your voice heard in the kitchens of the American household,” Balthazar said, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and squeezing. “You’d make quadruple your current salary, and that’s before any promotions, which I know you are capable of receiving by the end of next year.”

Castiel stayed quiet while his coworker (and long-time friend) pitched something that should have sounded ideal, but just made his stomach turn. He loved the guaranteed isolation of his current show. To be alone in a darkly furnished room with coffee and a sourdough bagel and the sleepless ears that listened to him… he had created that haven for himself.

Yet, money was hard. Castiel had two temporary slots on daytime radio already but both were nothing more than reporting local news or… he hated to admit, advertisements. Compassionate ears don’t pay the rent.

“You would have to quit your nighttime slot,” Uriel said, his expression never more satisfied.

“No.”

“Come on, Cassie! With your ratings, you can’t afford to keep this up. You’re gonna crash and burn, or worse.”

“What’s worse?”

“The studio drops you altogether.”

Anna put a hand on Castiel’s arm. It did little to soothe him.

“How long do I have to think about it?” he asked, not meeting Anna’s gaze. He did not want to see the pity that would be there. He would have pitied her, had their roles been reversed.

“I’m glad you asked,” Balthazar said. “We’ve booked a conference for February fourteenth.”

“Valentine’s day?” Anna asked.

“Oh, is it? Oh well. You will be there, won’t you?”

That gave him five months to think about it and find possible alternatives. If he picked up a third day job, he would financially be okay, but that wouldn’t stop the station from dropping him. At least if he left of his own volition, he could stick with the station that he had been with for the past ten years.

“Where is the conference going to be at?” he asked. Balthazar tightened his grip once again and Castiel was sure that if Uriel rolled his eyes any more, he might pass out.

“The big apple, Cassie. The big apple.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just say ‘New York’,” Castiel grumbled.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?”

-

Castiel didn’t make a point to think about Dean, but he couldn’t stop himself when he crawled into his too-soft bed and became all-too aware of its largeness. It was why he slept on the couch so often. The couch was small and when he curled into it, never felt lonely.

Trying to sleep, Castiel wondered how big Dean’s house was, and how empty it would feel when his brother was gone.   

-

_“It is when you walk into the office and the coffee has just finished brewing. It is the first note of your song playing on the radio. The moment you sink into your favorite spot on the couch and it welcomes you home.”_

Dean made to deal cards to Sam, but his brother stopped him, placing a hand on his forearm.

“I can’t do another, Dean. We’ve played six hands already.”

“Then _you_ think of a way for us to spend time together that doesn’t include a bar or TV,” Dean snapped, taking the cards back. He was certain that Sam was just a sore loser.

_“Small satisfactions are important. You may not consider the smell of an old book or the spot on the bed that the sun warms past the moment you are treasuring them, but they stick with you. With everyone. These are the things, however small, that give us hope.”_

“We’ve been spending all afternoon together,” Sam said, gathering their empty beer bottles. He took them to the kitchen to rinse while Dean stretched out on the couch. “It’s already three. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“You know I can’t sleep.”

From the Entertainment center, the voice went on.

_“We are about to start our call segment, so if you have anything to add to the topic of small satisfactions, stories to tell, or if you just need someone to talk to, give me a call.”_

“You should call again, Dean.”

“And why would I do that?” Dean turned to see Sam already holding the phone out to him, the number entered. “This is peer pressure.”

“No, I’m just trying to help you.”

Dean thought about how he had begun to open up so easily over the phone. It was as though a switch inside him had been flipped and he just wanted to tell someone _something_. It was a frightening loss of control, and he wasn’t sure if he could deal with it again.

“Please, Dean. He just wants to help.”

“We don’t even know his _name_ ,” Dean snapped, taking the phone anyway and pressing ‘dial’.

-

“It’s good to hear from you again, Lawrence, Kansas.” Castiel was not exaggerating. He had been thinking of the man ever since Balthazar had told him of the startling number of listeners he had garnered. “How have you been this past week?”

“ _Don’t call me that. It’s Dean, just Dean. And I couldn’t sleep.”_ He _sounded_ tired, like his words slugged along.

“That makes the both of us.”

 _“Funny. What’s your day job?”_ Dean asked.

“You assume that I have a day job.” Dean may have been right, but Castiel didn’t have to mention that.

_“Yeah, well, I don’t see how anyone could make a living off of a radio show no one listens to.”_

Castiel let out a sharp laugh. “Your words are wounding!” he said, not offended in the slightest.

_“You know what I mean. Midnight Matters. Midnight, I’m guessing its midnight up there.  But who listens to it?”_

Who indeed… Castiel thought on the numbers that would flash across the computer. The little red dots, scattered and clumped together, of those who tuned in each night. He didn’t know any of them. There were the voices that called once and the voices that called all the time, but the rest were just a spatter of ratings on a digital map. So who _did_ listen to his show? Castiel wasn’t even sure.

“There are many people who cannot sleep at night, Dean. While they are lying awake in bed, haunted by whatever it is they hide, I speak to them.”

It was what Castiel told himself every night.

_“So, you’re like an angel or something?”_

“Or something.”

 _“My brother sure acts like you must be. He was always a weird one._ ”

“How so?”

Dean told Castiel, and all those little red dots, about Sam when he was young. He compared him to a baby giraffe, all limbs and no coordination. For fun, Sam would read text books and practice algebra. Castiel laughed at the appropriate times, and once, while he described the first girl Sam ever took on a date, Dean laughed, too.

It was a deep, thundering sort of laugh that settled in your rib cage. Castiel had to place a hand to his chest to be sure his heart had not stuttered at the sound. 

“You have a wonderful laugh, Dean,” he said, without thinking.

“ _Right. I didn’t know you were also a comedian.”_

Castiel frowned as, once again, the mirth fled from Dean’s tone.

“Dean… You cannot measure self-worth by your own lowest opinion of yourself,” Castiel said.

Dean stayed silent. For a moment, there was only dead air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to have the next chapter up as soon as I finish my essay.


	3. Distance promised a painless parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People didn’t just walk down the streets discussing Midnight Matters. Castiel was no Ellen or Dr. Phil, he was just a voice people listened to because it was there. They didn’t want to admit that they couldn’t sleep or that they willingly stayed up to catch a ‘self help’ radio show, and that didn’t bother him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, here's the third chap. I have been in bed for the past four days with a really bad cold so IDk when the next one will be up, I have a lot of missed classes to catch up on, but hopefully soon.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter three – Distance promised a painless parting

 

“What’s the first thing they told you, Cassie? The day you showed up with your hair looking like a train wreck and that ugly, over-sized coat that you _still_ won’t get rid of… what did they tell you?”

Castiel groaned, burying his face in his hands. Behind him, Balthazar’s were propped against his hips. Even the dip of his v-neck sweater could not diminish how intimidating he was.

“ _Castiel_.”

“No dead air, alright?” Castiel snapped, drawing his chair back and standing. “Never have dead air.”

“And what did you do?” Balthazar asked slowly, like speaking to a child.

“I had dead air.”

“Good. Now that we’ve established what you did wrong, what are you going to do about it?”

Castiel stormed out of the conference room, Balthazar on his heels. They hadn’t even officially started their meeting but the man was there, waiting for him, just like Castiel knew he would be.

“Grovel to the station? I don’t know, Balthazar!” he said, passing Anna in the hall. She turned her head at his harsh tone, but he wouldn’t look at her. Castiel never lost his cool. “There is nothing I _can_ do. Besides, I doubt the network even bothers _listening_ to my slot anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know _exactly what it means_.”

Castiel left the building with his jaw clenched and his head swimming with unease, mostly at himself.

-

Castiel stood in the ‘less than twenty items’ lane at the market because his basket had nothing but an onion and two water bottles. It was early, not even eight, and it had taken much will to drag himself off the couch and to the kitchen. He somehow made it, only to find that his dreams of an omelet would go unfulfilled. There were no onions.

Castiel could have prepared something else, or even left onion out of the omelet altogether, but instead he pulled on his large, tan trench coat and ventured out.

The streets were swarmed with children in cheaply-made costumes and it occurred to him, _oh, it’s Halloween, isn’t it?_ this was confirmed when a young girl, likely ten or so, said, “What are you supposed to be?” with a suspicious leer.

Castiel loved children, really, but children often didn’t feel the same towards him.

The women before him in the checkout line had fake eyelashes and press-on nails. They looked at each other as if sharing a secret, and when they deemed him non-threatening, began to whisper.

“Did you hear _him_ the other night?” one asked the other, the back of her hand brought to her lips to hide her words. “On the radio?”

“Of course! I haven’t been so excited in such a long time,” the other said. “Lawrence, Kansas sounds so dreamy.”

Castiel’s attention had been officially garnered.

“And lonely! It’s a shame _I_ can’t keep him company.”

The two broke out into giggles and when they noticed Castiel watching them, it only fueled their mirth.

The way one might consider opening a door in a moving car or pushing a friend over a steep ledge, Castiel thought about revealing himself. What would they say if they knew? If the man in the wrinkled coat with too much stubble turned out to be the voice they listened to on the radio… would it change things?

The thought fled quicker than it came, and Castiel turned away. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to confess. Did he want recognition? Or did he really just want to say “ _His name is Dean_ ” and not be judged for it?

“I hope he calls back,” the first woman said, taking her bags.

_Me too,_ Castiel thought. _Me too._

-

_“Why is your show called Midnight Matters? Is it because you discuss the most mundane things so late at night… or…”_

Castiel had begun to believe that he wouldn’t call again. Dean was so adamant to talk to him the first time that to call twice was already a miracle. Sure enough, after a few brief exchanges with strangers, that familiar voice filled his ears and Castiel found himself clutching his headphones. He cradled them.

“Or?”

_“Or because those mundane things… well, matter? You know what? It’s stupid, just forget I said anything,”_ Dean trailed off. Castiel imagined that his ears might have gone red. Maybe Dean was the sort whose blush even traveled down his neck.

“You matter, and I think that’s enough to answer that.”

Castiel felt like he was being unwrapped. Delicate at first, but as patience ran out, ripped apart.

-

It was clear that Balthazar was on his toes at their next meeting. Even Uriel seemed to be holding back a series of aggressive comments, and it wasn’t like him to censor himself. It was Anna who approached Castiel, to no one’s surprise.

“Hello, Castiel,” she said, sliding into the chair beside him.

On the table, he had spread out charts of his recorded views for the past several weeks.

“What’s that?” Anna asked, pointing to a spot where a nearly flat line shot up like a spike in blood pressure.

“That is two minutes into Sam’s second phone call.”

“Sam is?”

“Dean’s brother. The one who is leaving for college.”

Anna followed the slope of the graph like a thrill ride, up until the line stayed constant at a record peak.

“How did this happen?” she asked.

“People are talking about him.”

“About Dean?”

Castiel nodded.

“I overheard a couple of women the other day at the grocery. They expressed a certain interest in Lawrence, Kansas.”

“That’s never-” Balthazar began.

“Never happened before. I know.”

People didn’t just walk down the streets discussing Midnight Matters. Castiel was no Ellen or Dr. Phil, he was just a voice people listened to because it was there. They didn’t want to admit that they couldn’t sleep or that they willingly stayed up to catch a ‘self help’ radio show, and that didn’t bother him.

Castiel never knew how close his listeners were. He preferred that they be nothing but a constellation of red dots. Distance promised a painless parting. When a particular dot would inevitably blink away from existence, Castiel would not miss it – he never truly knew it to begin with.

After his run-in, Castiel pictured those two women sitting across from him with their hands folded on their laps, listening. He imagined a thousand duplicates of them. Castiel wished it had been Dean he saw that day, wearing gaudy Halloween trinkets and buying milk. The thought of him watching while Castiel went on air was far less morose. 

“This guy is literally making your show,” Anna said, tearing Castiel away from his musings. “At this rate, you may not even have to cancel your slot.”

Castiel expected Balthazar to say something about the prospects of the new job, about what an upgrade it would be. Instead, he said, “You’re hearing his name on the streets,” as if saying it out loud would solidify it.

“It’s a coincidence,” Uriel said, frown in place.

“No, it’s a sign.”

Castiel wanted to tell Balthazar that he was being ridiculous, but Anna’s head nodded and he felt severely outnumbered.

\-  

Dean wasn’t about grab Sam by the shoulders, shake him, and announce that the little bastard had been right, but even he could not deny that ever since he began calling Midnight Matters, things had seemed brighter. It wasn’t as if a curtain had been drawn back from his eyes or anything corny like that. Dean just felt… better.

“I swear you had better have a good reason for smiling yourself stupid and not working.”

Dean’s smile only widened when Bobby slapped the back of his head in a gesture of affection.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re smiling right now, Idjit.”

Dean rolled his eyes and wiped the grease from his hands. He _had_ been working. It just so happened that Bobby caught him right as he closed the hood on his last car of the day.

“I’m just in a good mood is all,” Dean said. When his hands were clean enough, he started filling out the paperwork for the owner. “Can’t I be happy once in a while?”

“Is this about that radio flirtin’ you’ve been doing?”

Dean drew the pen across the page too roughly, tearing it. Cursing himself, he grabbed another sheet and started over.

“Sammy tell you about that?”

“Jody, actually,” Bobby said, checking over Dean’s work on the car. “She’s a big fan of… what did you call him? The angel on the radio?”

Dean’s face twisted into a cross between shame and irritation.

“Don’t make that face at me, or did you not know that you were _live_ while you were chattin’ it up?”

Jody, the town sheriff, listened to Midnight Matters. Obviously if Sam listened to it, then there had to be others that did as well. It just never occurred to Dean that they could be so close.

“Don’t get your panties knotted up over it. I’m just teasing.”

“Are you gonna listen, too?” Dean asked. “Now that you know I’m on sometimes?”

“I _hope_ that means that you ain’t gonna stick your tail between your legs now that people know you have feelings. You better call back,” Bobby huffed, approving Dean’s work and signing the document that allowed the owner to pick the vehicle up.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t answer to you, Idjit. You answer to me. Now get out of here before I have to pay you overtime.”

-

There were a thousand and one things about his childhood that Castiel did not like to talk about. To him, the only way to ensure that not a single one of them was brought up was by distancing himself physically and emotionally from anyone who had anything to do with his upbringing. The one exception to his familial-induced isolation was Gabriel, but even then, Castiel kept their contact limited to the occasional text message.

He blamed Balthazar for Gabriel appearing outside of his apartment. The Brit could never keep anything to himself, let alone against a man as persuasive as his older brother. Well, one of his many older brothers.

“Cassie!” Gabriel shouted, both arms high in the air in both celebration and the desire to hug. Castiel would allow him neither.

“Why are you here?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could already feel a headache blooming.

“Can’t I stop in to say hello once in a while? I swear, you keep moving and _conveniently_ forgetting to tell me your address. I’m hurt.”

“Then perhaps you should see a doctor-” Castiel tried to close the door on him, but Gabriel was small and quick to duck under his arm. Castiel could not put into words the frustration he felt, and instead counted to ten.

He didn’t get past six.

Castiel knew that the cream paint on the walls had begun to peel and the only photo he had up was one of himself that Balthazar had taken while they were school together. The frame was plastic.

“Wow. This place is even sadder than your last.”

“Gabriel, please.”

The man ignored Castiel and peeked into his bedroom.

“The only thing not a wreck is your bed. Have you been sleeping on the couch again?”

Castiel would have to tell Balthazar that he couldn’t do the new show. He’d be too busy being in prison for murder.

-

_“You call a lot for your previous reluctance. Not that I’m complaining,”_ the man said. His voice was always far more pleasant to hear over the phone, knowing that he was addressing Dean personally.

“Yeah, well, Sam thinks I need to talk to you, or anyone.”

It wasn’t only that. Dean had been thinking about making the call since he got home. He watched the clock so often that it seemed to have stopped moving at some point. Dean had spent far too much of the afternoon pacing about it.

Besides, it was just a phone call.

_“Why?”_

“He wants me to share my feelings, you know, chick stuff.”

_“Chick stuff?”_

Dean laughed. The man said the word ‘chick’ as if he spoke of actual birds.

“Yeah, no, I shouldn’t have said that. Jo would kill me.”

The line was silent for a beat longer than usual.

_“Who’s Jo?”_

“She’s just a friend. I told you I have those.”

_Just a friend?_ Why did he say it like that?

_“You can have friends and be lonely, Dean. Are you lonely?”_

“Sometimes.”

_“Are you lonely right now?”_

Dean sat on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table. Sam wasn’t there to yell at him for it because he was already in bed. There was no trash left out, no laundry on the floor, no open beer bottles… Dean could have sworn that the house didn’t look lived in at all, just looked like a magazine ad.

“That would be kind of dickish since you’re taking the time to talk to me and all.”

_“You have a full audience, Dean.”_

That was right. A full audience could be anyone. Dean might walk down the street in the morning only to have a gaggle of strangers point and stare at him and say _you’re the guy on the radio who’s sad and alone_.

“I’m positively delighted.”

_“That, listeners, was a prime example of sarcasm, both a defense mechanism and the lowest form of wit.”_

“Oh, shut up.”

-

That night, before Castiel made a point to crawl into his bed, he saw the little blinking light that let him know he had a message.

Balthazar hadn’t left one since before Dean was first on air.

“ _Hey, Cassie. Call me when you get this, even if it’s late. Crowley wants to see you.”_

  


	4. A hundred cruel men together could not fathom its burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel never liked Crowley. He was six kinds of sleazy and his eyes were always bloodshot whenever he saw him. They almost looked entirely red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the newest chapter! I am slowly working my way through this. Not sure when the next one will be up, but hopefully soon! I just got over a terrible cold which caused me to miss an uncomfortable number of classes. For the time being, I will be playing catch up! I hope you enjoy, I know things are kind of slow right now, but it's a pretty slow-moving story so bear with me!

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter four – A hundred cruel men together could not fathom its burn

 

It was about the dead air. It _had_ to be.

Castiel hadn’t had a meeting with the station head in years. It wasn’t that Crowley was an incredibly busy man, it was just that he didn’t feel the need to make pointless conversation. Most issues could be discussed electronically. The last time Castiel had been called in was when he pitched the idea for Midnight Matters in the first place.

If it wasn’t about the dead air… Castiel didn’t even want to think about the alternative.

Crowley’s office was exactly as it had been the first time he had visited. There was not a speck of dust on his variety of knick-knacks from tumbled stones to Lucky Cats, although Castiel could not imagine the stout man taking the time to polish them. At the forefront of his desk, Crowley had a bobble-headed Doberman with anatomically incorrect incisors. The little beast nodded at Castiel in greeting.

“Have a seat,” Crowley said from the door.

Castiel had thought for a second that the dog had spoken – well, he was just tired. Sleep did not come the night before, and with good reason.

“Yes, sir.”

The chair was plush, unlike many other offices that stuck the guest in a cold, plastic contraption that hardly passed for a chair at all. Crowley didn’t need such tactics to remind his employees who was in charge.

The man circled Castiel and propped himself against the mahogany desk, arms crossed.

“Why are you here, Castiel?” Crowley asked.

“You invited me.”

The man let out a sharp laugh that was loud and made Castiel’s pulse quicken.

“You’re funny. Not in the traditional sense, no, but the way one might watch a mentally disabled goat leap around. Are you a mentally disabled goat, Castiel?”

Castiel never liked Crowley. He was six kinds of sleazy and his eyes were always bloodshot whenever he saw him. They almost looked entirely red.

“No, sir.”

“Then why have you still not answered my question?” Crowley’s voice was not dark. In fact, he may as well have been chatting about the weather. That’s how he controlled his employees, through nonchalant intimidation.

“Because I do not know the answer,” Castiel said, keeping his gaze.

One could hear a pin drop, it was so quiet. Then Crowley let out another laugh. It was like two cuts of steak slapping together and Castiel found himself wishing he never had to hear the man laugh again. Laughter should be warm, encompassing, like –

“I like you, Castiel. You stand up to me. I guess that means you’re brave. Either that or you really _are_ stupid.” Crowley walked around the desk to sit in his own chair, propping his elbows up and placing his chin in his hands. They were at eye level.

“Tell me about Winchester.”

“Who?” Castiel asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Dean Winchester. From Lawrence, Kansas.”

“How did you know-”

“Do you really think there is any information on this bloody earth that I can’t get my hands on?” Crowley pulled out a file from his desk drawer. “Dean Winchester. Brother, Sam Winchester. Child of Mary and John Winchester. Mary, deceased.” Crowley tossed the file at Castiel. “It’s all in there… birth, school, and employment records, the whole shebang.”

The file was plain, save ‘ _Dean Winchester_ ’ printed on its very center.

“Go ahead, read it. It’s quite the story.” Crowley spun in his chair, waiting for Castiel to oblige.

Instead, he slid the folder back.

“I’d rather not.”

“Is this one of those… ‘moral’ things?” Crowley asked.

“The purpose of my show is to help others help themselves. It would be blatant disrespect to invade one’s privacy this way, especially someone who has chosen to confide in me solely.”

Crowley’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and over the years that had become a more challenging task. “Suit yourself,” he said, taking the folder back.

“Why bring Dean into this at all?” Castiel asked. Now he _really_ wasn’t sure why he was there.

“The station isn’t oblivious to these things, Castiel. Ever since Dean here,” he tapped the file, “has started making his appearances, your viewing rate has sky-rocketed.” Crowley pulled out another sheet from his drawer and handed it over.

It was like the one Castiel had shown Anna, but far different as well. Crowley also pulled out a list of what seemed to be URLs.

“What you have right now is your stats for last night’s show alone. I don’t think I need to point out that you had more listeners than any other night in your little ‘Midnight Matters’ tryst. Normally, I wouldn’t have paid attention at all to your slot… too busy these days… but my secretary has taken a shining to tuning in, and she tells me all about it.”

“Does she?”

“Yes. And according to her, the reason for your recent increase in views is one man by the alias of Lawrence, Kansas, known to others as ‘Dean’.”

Castiel had no idea the night before had such a turnout. He only ever checked the stats at the end of the week.   

“And this,” Crowley held out the list of URLs, “is every website where Lawrence, Kansas has been mentioned. Most of them are forums, but there are actually a decent number of transcriptions of his airtime. I must say they were... interesting to read.”

Castiel didn’t know where this was going.

“Why is it, do you think, that Dean has made such an impact on your ratings?”

 “Uriel says it’s because my listeners are all single and desperate.”

“Uriel has a stick up his ass,” Crowley barked. “And don’t you forget, he’s single, too.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“Good. Now tell me why _you_ think he has.”

Castiel was quiet. He fished around through the conversations he and Dean had shared, borderline intimate, but all he grasped at turned to smoke between his fingers. “I don’t know.”

“Hmn,” Crowley mused. “I guess you have time to find out. I’m extending your slot by half an hour for an experimental time period. You will be paid overtime.”

Castiel’s jaw went slack.

“Don’t just sit there, gaping. Go work on your show plans, or better yet, get some _sleep_. You look like a strong breeze could take you down for the count.”

“I- Thank you, sir.”

“By the way. That file on Mr. Winchester, it has a photo. In case you’re interested.”

Castiel’s throat had gone completely dry.

“No, thank you.”

Crowley pursed his lips.

“ _Goodbye then_ , Castiel.”

Castiel shuffled out of the office in the most uncoordinated fashion. The door behind him wasn’t even shut all the way before he had his phone out, punching in Balthazar’s number.

His palms were clammy.

-

It escaped him before, the reason why people wanted to hear Dean speak. But not now, not when he switched the line to hear, “ _Hey, it’s Dean_ ,” in the most casual manner.

They listened because they _wanted to hear Dean speak_. That was really all there was too it. His voice was a striking timbre and his honesty was probably the only honesty people heard in their entire day. With those three words, a simple greeting, Castiel thought about how much affection Dean had seeping out of him, for his brother, his friends, everyone.

Maybe people just needed to witness that. Maybe Castiel did, too.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, heart racing. He wondered if a half an hour more would even be enough to _begin_ capturing the stranger’s essence. “It’s good to hear from you.” His voice had cracked.

“ _I’m touched. Really._ ”

“How are things?”

_“I can’t complain. I mean, I’m alive, aren’t I?”_

“Yes. Yes you are.”

They talked about nothing, but managed to eat up airtime like a passing fancy. Castiel would ask a question, Dean would skirt around the answer, make a joke, and Castiel would try again. Sometimes, he wondered if Dean knew how strongly his emotions filtered through the line. They were tangible.

Castiel covered his face with his palms and pressed until he could feel his eyes pulsing. He hoped that the pressure would ease their sting.

- 

“Where exactly in Lawrence does Dean live?” Anna asked. Her hair had been let down and her lap was covered in torn open envelopes. She was out of place on Castiel’s living room floor. She and Balthazar had stopped by (unannounced and unwelcome) with a tote bag of letters. They forced their way in, Anna taking the floor and Balthazar digging through the kitchen cabinets in search of tea.

“I don’t have tea.”

“Of course you do. I bought you some for your birthday and I know you didn’t drink it. Where is it?”

“Lawrence isn’t _huge_ , but it’d be hard to find one guy if you didn’t know where to start,” Anna said.

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, certain that he’d had far too many visitors for the month already, and it was still early.

“Why do you need to find him?” Castiel asked. Obviously Crowley had kept his accumulation of information a secret. “What good would that do anyone?”

“I don’t know, maybe because about two hundred of these fan letters are asking for his address and the other two hundred gushing about how ‘hot’ he sounds,” Anna said, holding three up at once to examine.

“Give me that.” Castiel snatched one from her and sure enough, “ _Is it possible for us to find out where or how we might be able to contact Dean_?” he read. “ _I would love to send him a letter, just to let him know that we’re listening and if he ever feels lonely, he shouldn’t_.” Castiel’s scowl overtook his entire face. “Who sends these?”

“Everyone, apparently,” Balthazar said. He had two steaming mugs of tea and Castiel didn’t even want to know how he managed to find it.

“It’s invasive, giving out someone’s address,” Castiel said, tossing the letter on the floor. “Don’t people _realize_ that?”

“Don’t _you_ want to know?” Anna asked.

Castiel wanted to tell her about Crowley’s file, about how he had turned away from it. Yes, he wanted to know, wanted to see the photo that sat tucked away in its manila blanket. But he chose not to, because what would Dean think of him then?

Dean _trusted_ him.

“No,” he lied.

Balthazar handed Anna a mug and joined her. They sorted through the numerous letters, setting aside the ones that weren’t Dean-centric.

There were four.  

“Should we send out a response?” Balthazar asked.

“No.”

“They’re your viewers, Castiel. You can’t just ignore them.” Anna’s face twisted into a grimace.

“I know. You’re right.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Castiel picked up the paper he had discarded and smoothed out the wrinkles from where his fingers had squeezed.

-

“ _I would like to thank my listeners for all of the mail you have sent me. I have taken the time to read each and every one of them, and I must say they all seemed to share a common factor. The truth is, you know as much about Dean as I do. I know that he is a good man who cares deeply for his brother. I know that he sometimes feels alone. But, I also know that he is strong, and that he is going to be okay.”_

Dean had worked a double shift and, when he got home, collapsed into bed. He didn’t fall asleep so much as cease to be awake anymore. Midnight Matters went on without him, and he didn’t catch a word.

-

It was grocery day. Sam would leave a list on the fridge for Dean and Dean would go out and pick up whatever it was they needed for the week.

Sam did not leave a list that day. He would not leave a list ever again. Sam was leaving.

Dean walked up and down each aisle, reading the backs of stroganoff boxes and scowling when he didn’t understand the majority of what he was seeing. When he finally found one that didn’t have more than twelve unidentifiable ingredients, Dean shrugged and tossed it in the basket.

It landed by the eggs and deodorant.

Dean didn’t like that there was no list. Sam would even write in parenthesis beside the ingredients what they would be useful for and always organized the list in order of item placement at the market. Sometimes, there were doodles of faces or messages for Dean, like _don’t be dumb, buy off-brand_ and those had guided him for as long as he could remember.

Without it, Dean was just wandering.

“Excuse me?”

Dean turned toward the voice.

“I can’t seem to reach something, could you maybe help me out?”

The woman had large, caramel curls and tan skin. She was beautiful, but there was a slyness in her stare that unsettled Dean.

“Sure,” he said, reaching up to fetch what she pointed to. “It pays to be tall, sometimes.”

The woman’s eyes widened a fraction, taking the box. “What’s your name?” she asked, discarding it in her cart.

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“I’m Bela Talbot,” she said, holding out her hand. Dean was a bit reluctant, but shook it none the less. Her grip was tighter than his, and that said something. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean. Can I return the favor by maybe, I don’t know, buying you a drink?”

“It wasn’t much of a favor,” Dean said. “And as tempting as that may be, I have to be somewhere tonight.”

_The final supper_ , Dean thought with bitterness. He and Sam would sit across from each other and pretend that nothing was wrong, that nothing was going to change.

“What a shame. I’m just passing through, so by tomorrow I’ll be gone.”

“It is a shame,” Dean said, turning his basket and preparing to walk away.

“You sure you won’t reconsider?” Bela asked, running a hand through her hair. If she had been any other woman, or if it had been any other night, he would have, but he was too old to be stirring up trouble.

“I’m certain.”

“Thank you again, Dean Winchester. I hope that this is not the last time we meet.”

Dean hoped that it _was_. Bela Talbot spelled out trouble in the way she raised an eyebrow, tossed her hair, and walked off with a heavy sway in her hips. Dean looked at the three measly items in his cart and frowned. He would be there for a while.

-

Castiel thought that Dean wasn’t going to call. He didn’t expect him to call _every_ night, but the disappointment was still there, rocking like a pendulum in his stomach, stirring it.

But then Dean did call.  

_“It’s Dean_.”

“Hello, Dean. A bit later than usual, the shows already about over. Are you okay?” Castiel asked. Dean did not sound like himself.

_“Sam’s gone. He left this afternoon. He doesn’t start officially until the spring semester, but he wanted to get an apartment and settle in. I don’t want to keep you, I just need a distraction is all.”_

Castiel closed his eyes, the sound of Dean’s distress was too much. Hadn’t he been the one to say that separation was just a part of life? Where had that reassurance gone? Castiel wanted to take every ounce of Dean’s suffering and place it upon his own shoulders, like how Atlas carried the world.

The pain of a righteous soul ran deep. A hundred cruel men together could not fathom its burn.

No one would ever convince Castiel that Dean was not a righteous soul, and if he needed a distraction… Castiel could be that.

“How old are you, Dean?” he asked, clearing his throat.

_“What?”_

“How old are you?”

_“Twenty-three.”_

Still so young.

“What do you do for a living?”

Dean cleared his throat, Castiel wondered if he was fighting back something stronger. _“I work at my uncle’s auto shop. Well, he’s not really my uncle, but he’s always been there and family don’t end with blood.”_

“Say that again, Dean. About family.”

_“Family don’t end with blood?”_

Dean would be okay. Dean was strong. As long as Castiel kept telling himself that, things would turn out fine.

“You heard it here, dear listeners. Family don’t end with blood. That’s something worth living by.”

-

Loss was universal, and it transcended eighteen hundred miles to settle in Castiel’s stomach as he lay on his couch. He’d looked the number up on his phone, amazed at how powerfully he felt it despite the distance. It was like the aftermath of vomiting. His stomach ached from the newfound absence, and only ached harder when he imagined how Dean must have felt.

Castiel had always been alone, but Dean… Dean was the sort of person, Castiel decided, that never deserved to be alone.

It wouldn’t be difficult to get the file from Crowley, to find Dean’s number and for the first time, be the one to call him.

He wouldn’t.  Castiel was just the guy on the radio. Anonymity was his vessel, and if he were to abandon that, he could lose Dean.

He turned the TV on.


	5. It eats at you, because you care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because we do not dote on someone or shower them with gifts does not mean that we do not love them nor that we have abandoned them. Love, sometimes, is just being there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, SunflowerSeedSwag! I am putting this up now because finals are in full swing so I do not know if I would get around to it within the week other than today. Does that make sense? Am I making sense? I'm so tired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, I really liked writing this chapter. I do not know when the next one will be up but I will try for no later than a week.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter five – It eats at you, because you care

 

Castiel loved Gabriel. In fact, he loved him so much that he would be certain to adorn his casket with hundreds of flowers and write a eulogy swimming with analogies of childhood pranks. Like the time he had convinced Castiel that he was going to die because his tongue had turned blue after eating all the frosting off of a batman cake. Yes, Castiel loved Gabriel. Who wouldn’t?

A humorless, stick in the mud, that’s who.

“You have five seconds to vacate my apartment or I will cut off all of your hair.”

“Seriously, Cassie? The hair? How old are you?” Gabriel asked, one leg crossed at his knee and an arm slung over a tanned woman beside him. Her lipstick was so pristine that Castiel immediately decided not to trust her, never mind that she and Gabriel and her piles of curly black hair were draped audaciously across _his_ couch.

“It seems you two have some unresolved issues,” she said, leaning close to Gabriel and, _God_ , placing a kiss below his ear. “Should I leave you to it?”

“Aw, but I wanted to suck face some more.”

“In due time.” The woman stood up. She was as tall as Castiel in her four inch stilettos.  

“How _is_ your lipstick still intact if you’ve been _sucking face_ all evening?” Castiel asked, avoiding direct eye contact. She was... a force.

“It’s called lip stain, sweetie. Look it up.”

He held the door open, “No. No, I really don’t think I will,” and closed it behind her.

“I’m telling you, Kali just might be the one,” Gabriel said, sighing and crossing his arms at the back of his neck.

“Is that a joke?”

“True love, Cassie. It’s when two people meet each other’s eyes and you feel like you’re a thousand feet in the air. You look at her, she has some stupid little thing like a beauty mark or a dimple that you love unreasonably, and her gaze says, _it’s you_.”

“That,” Castiel said, taking his brother’s arm and hoisting him off of the couch, “is too cheesy, even for my show.” He led him to the door. “Now, leave me so I can be lonely by myself.”

“There is seriously something wrong with… well, everything you just said.”

“Goodnight, Gabriel.”

Castiel loved Gabriel, but the man was just a whole different kind of crazy and Castiel didn’t have time for that. He had a western to not really pay attention to, but leave on all the same, and he had Dean to think about. He’d think about him while he washed the three dirty plates on the counter and while he brushed his teeth before bed. Even when the overhead light above the sink flickered out, Castiel kept brushing, still thinking about him.

It wasn’t as though he had any strings of particular thoughts on the man, simply reminded himself of the stranger’s existence through a throbbing pang in his stomach.

That seemed to count for something.

-

“How are things at home, Dean?” Castiel asked, sipping at his coffee. It was hot, thankfully. Castiel’s day had been so strenuous that he didn’t know what he would do if even his damn coffee had been subpar. At least now he was seated in his studio with Dean on the line and maybe that meant things were looking up. “Is it quiet?”

“ _Straight to the point, as usual. Not incredibly. I keep your show on at night so the house feels a little more lived in. I’m never here during the day so it’s just the nights.”_

“Do you have a radio by your bed?” Castiel asked.

Dean let out a heavy cough.

_“Everyone does.”_

It was, daresay, cute how flustered the man could get over a simple comment. At least Castiel thought he was flustered… maybe _he_ was the one getting embarrassed about it. Castiel’s ears _were_ warm. But they always were when he was speaking to Dean.

“Is that where you listen to my show?” Was he stirring his coffee with his pinkie? That was normal, right? 

_“Well, don’t make it sound weird or anything.”_

Castiel should get an award for his ability to keep cool on air because his limbs seemed to thrash of their own accord and knock his cup over, right into his lap. Thankfully by then, the coffee had cooled to a lukewarm. “I will do my best,” he said, scowling at his lap.

It could have been worse.

_“How’s the home life?_ ”

“Funny, it’s my job to ask _you_ that.”

“ _Well, who asks you?_ ”

Castiel almost said, _no one_ , but lately it seemed that all of his acquaintances had been barreling into his life. Gabriel never visited and now, he was there once a week. Even Anna and Balthazar kept making promises to drop by again and that Castiel should _buy more tea, one variety is boring_. Instead, Castiel said, “I have friends.”

“ _You can have friends and still be lonely_.”

“Did you just throw my own words back at me?” Castiel asked. His day had been long, irritating even, and his pants were soaked with rapidly cooling coffee, but he still laughed. “You assbutt.”

“ _Did you just call me an_ assbutt _?”_

They were both laughing, then.  Above Castiel, the sky was black with just a spatter of stars. The sky overhead of Dean was much the same. It was a blanket that spread across America, wrapping them up together.

-

The only thing Dean actually liked about hanging up with the man on the radio, was hearing him bid his listeners goodnight. It was the only time Dean ever heard anyone say _goodnight_.

There was a time when his mother had, back when he was too young to appreciate it. His father had, too, for a few years, but soon that stopped as well. Then it was just Dean, tucking Sam in and telling _him_ goodnight.

There was something special about it. If Dean thought about it too much, he’d complain that it wasn’t even a proper sentence, but a fraction of a statement. He’d say that people who spent too much time worrying over someone saying _goodnight_ had nothing more important to worry about. It was wrong and he knew that, but he’d say it anyway.

When the man on the radio said, “ _Thank you for listening, and goodnight,”_ Dean made to switch it off and try to get some sleep. Before he could, the voice continued, “ _And goodnight, Dean_.”

-

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

_“I’m sorry, what?”_ the man asked.

“Well, you said earlier that ‘love’ isn’t a human privilege. You said that we are entitled to it, even if we think we do not deserve it. Are you saying that others are obligated to love us? What does your girlfriend think of that?” Dean asked. He had downed four beers already.

“ _I believe that we are born to be loved. First by our parental figures, our siblings, our families, and then by those that come to be around us. Nobody is obligated to love us, but they will, whether they want to or not.”_

“Hmn,”

“ _And no, I am not in a relationship._ ”

“Probably because you’re always up all night talking to crazy people,” Dean said. The house was gaping open. Dean had torn down Sam’s posters and rolled them up, each like a cigarette, to shove under the couch. For dinner, he had eaten a boiled hotdog. “Like me.”

“ _I would not go so far as to call you crazy, just complicated_.”

“I’m complicated?”

“ _You are being complicated.”_

“In your show you said that love is universal, but is it really? Don’t people just pick a few others, chose to love them, and not give a shit about anyone else? Isn’t easy for them to abandon others?”

“ _You don’t like it when I talk about love_ ,” the man said. He sounded sad, his voice dropping off at the word _love_. “ _But, Dean, surely you’ve never abandoned anyone?_ ”

“Of course not!”

“ _Just because we do not dote on someone or shower them with gifts does not mean that we do not love them nor that we have abandoned them. Love, sometimes, is just being there. Listening. Indifference is easier than caring, I’ll give you that. You could walk away and forget. But you know what, Dean?”_

“What?”

“ _You never do forget. You go home and you think about all the things that you could have done differently. It eats at you, because you care. What you associate with abandonment, is nothing but the fear to make a change. We do care, we just don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”_

Dean’s bottle was empty again, but instead of fetching another, he stared at the accumulated beads of precipitation along its neck and dared them to fall.

“ _I’m trying, Dean_.”

“I know. I know you are.” He was being a brat. The man on the radio didn’t need Dean lashing out at him, no one did. Dean’s problems were his own, and it was selfish to get angry at the only person who ever listened and never asked for anything in return.

“ _It’s okay to be upset, Dean. To be upset is to be human.”_

“Can I call again tomorrow? Or are you finally tired of putting up with me?”

“ _You may call whenever you like.”_

Dean wanted to tell him, _no, stop being so nice to me_ , but he needed to be selfish.

-

The next night, Dean leaned against the kitchen counter, cleaning it with a rag soaked in bleach. He liked the smell, and Dean was a stress-cleaner. He shouldn’t have been so stressed. In three hours, the man on the radio would be back and he would talk about something Dean never thought about, but probably should. He had already washed every dish, even cleaned the dust from the wine glasses, and after he was finished in the kitchen he would move to the bathroom.

Dean was becoming progressively more excited each night that he planned to call Midnight Matters. He _had_ to plan because Dean had learned in his life that nothing came of serendipity but a stern lashing from his father. Dean was certain that if the man from the radio appeared beside him and said in that tone of his, _hello, Dean_ , he just might die of an early heart attack.

No surprises.

Dean probably jumped four feet in the air when the doorbell rang.

“Who the hell can that possibly be?” Dean asked himself, slapping the wet rag into the sink and unrolling his sleeves. Nobody visited him. It was Sam who was the socialite and Dean, well, the mailman didn’t come that late.

When he opened the door and looked at the person that stood on his porch, drenched from the sprinkles of November rain, Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

“What the hell do you want?”

-

“He hasn’t called in six days, Gabriel,” Castiel said, curling deeper into the backboard of his couch. In the kitchen, his brother scowled at the pot of brewing coffee and wondered if there was enough sugar in the apartment to negate how strongly Castiel liked to make it. “It’s a sign!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes for the fifth time in the hour. “Tut tut, you don’t believe in signs,” he said, pouring two cups. “You never have. When we were little and that lighting storm blew out the electricity in our house, nobody else’s, and then Dad left us, you thought that was a coincidence.”

“Don’t talk about dad,” Castiel said. “And stop putting so much sugar. You’re going to get sick.”

“Stop trying to be everybody’s parent,” Gabriel said, handing him the mug. “You’ve been doing is to all of us for years. It’s condescending.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the baby, Cassie. We should be taking care of you.”

“The day Michael wants to come down here and tuck me in, tell him not to.”

Gabriel dragged his brother’s feet from the end of the couch and settled himself there, against Castiel’s protests. “Are you really going to lie down and mope all day over Dean-o?”

“I’m not moping.”

“I’m certain that I could not find a more literal example of moping than you, right now, on this damn couch. Dean will call back.”  

“He’s been attracting a lot of attention. It might be too much for him,” Castiel said, _not whined_ , and set his untouched cup on the coffee table. He could not muster the will to drink it.

“You are so sad.”

“Be quiet, Gabriel.” Even with his brother there, Castiel felt Dean’s absence like a slug to the gut. Dean had been angry the last time he had called. What if he never called again, and the last time Castiel ever spoke to Dean, it was while butting heads? “I’m in turmoil.”

“Well, how about I spike that drink or yours and we can talk about it?”

Castiel nodded.

-

It was the same every night. Castiel would chatter about something that was bound to be haunting someone, somewhere, but his heart wasn’t in it. He kept wondering if Dean would call… hoping that he would. By the time the calling hour came around, he had convinced himself that that would be the night.

Dean didn’t call.  

_“Hello,”_ a man said.

“What’s your name, sir?” Castiel asked.

_“Chuck, I’m Chuck.”_

“It’s nice to have you, Chuck.” Did his disappointment show? The last thing Castiel wanted was to put off his other listeners for his own petty… feelings.  

_“Thanks. I just wanted Lawrence, Kansas to know that, well, it seems hard now but things are gonna get better.”_

Castiel felt a lump form in his throat. “That’s kind of you,” he choked out.

_“They have to get better.”_

“Thank you, Chuck.”

Castiel had two other callers that night, but neither of them were Dean. As another show came to a close, Castiel stared at his red _On Air_ sign and felt the pang return to his stomach.

“That will conclude our show for tonight. And remember, if you’re listening Lawrence, Kansas, goodnight. Sleep well.”

He switched it off and dropped his coffee in the trash.

 


	6. The cup whispered, drink me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every relationship he had ever been in had become a spiraling dive into self destruction. Girls that were pretty and smooth and kind that he couldn’t treat right… dates that ended early or badly or with stupid decisions that could be used to catalogue his decent into adulthood. Like a time stamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUGH, is this late? I'm sorry!!! I hope it is to your liking and I will have the next one up within a week.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter six – The cup whispered, _drink me._

 

When Dean was nine years old, his father taught him how to hold a rifle. It was heavy, and the kickback knocked one of Dean’s last baby teeth out, but it was the only time he could remember his father’s presence in his life being constant. John would line up empty beer cans from the kitchen on the fence at Bobby’s auto shop and they wouldn’t go home until Dean had pegged every one of them.

John was always drinking, but Dean figured that as long as he was the one doing all the shooting, things would be okay.

John never taught Sam how to shoot because by the time Sam was old enough, John had taken a permanent residence on the couch. He’d throw his weight into the corner until it began to break beneath his inebriation. He stayed parked there for years, until he and Sam had it out and John got up and walked away.

Dean had decided then and there that he couldn’t rely on his father. When Sam would come to Dean with big, red eyes and say, “It’s my fault he left,” Dean would reply, “No, it’s his fault he left,” and that would be that.

Things were hard at first, but thanks to Bobby, Dean was able to keep up with the bills. Sam wanted to help, too, but Dean was adamant that he focus on school. That was four years ago.

When John had shown up on Dean’s doorstep, his hair unruly and his breath rancid with liqour, Dean was tempted to shut the door. He didn’t, but only because he remembered the rifle.

It had taken less than an hour for Dean to kick him back out. Even a week later, Dean laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to block out the things that had been said. Things like _You’re living in your own world, Dean, you’re as foolish as your brother_ and _I’m trying, Dad_.

“ _A bond is the thread that ties us all together,”_ the man on the radio said from Dean’s nightstand. _“Often it hangs loosely between us so we don’t realize it’s there. But as we begin to grow apart, the string grows tight. It is tested and we are forced to acknowledge it. But draw it too tightly and it becomes weak and can break._ ”

Dean pulled the blanket up to shield his eyes from the light that filtered through the window from the neighbor’s yard.

 _“But sometimes a bond is so strong that it cannot be weathered. This profound bond is always there, even when you don’t see it. Even when it’s been stretched and abused, it withstands. You, too, must withstand._ ”

Dean shut the radio off.

-

“ _Hi, my name is Charlie and I’m from Topeka, Kansas.”_

“Hello Charlie, how can I help you tonight?” Castiel asked.

Castiel’s pep had been steadily draining over the course of the week. He had been avoiding Balthazar for days. aAfter Dean’s disappearance, he began to go on about the new show with a newfound vigor. Castiel didn’t want to hear about it, he still had several months before he had to make a decision.

Out of sight, out of mind.

 Not to mention Gabriel had not only brought Kali over to his place three times, but somehow convinced him to join them for lunch. If there was one thing Castiel did not want to do, it was watch his brother sweet talk some woman while he was trying to eat. The pasta quickly lost its appeal.

It was a tough week.

“ _I was just wondering what happened to Lawrence, Kansas?”_ Charlie asked. _“He hasn’t called in a while. Do you think he’s alright?”_

It was the third call he had received about Dean, but Castiel couldn’t blame them. Every concern that was voiced he shared whole-heartedly.

“He is going through changes in his life that make his silence understandable. While I do not wish to lose him as a listener, I also hope that he is getting plenty of sleep in his absence.”

_“It’s not just me. A lot of the forum members miss him, too. I just thought he should know.”_

“If you’re listening, Lawrence, Kansas,” Castiel rubbed his thumbs against his eyes, “you are missed. Goodnight. Sleep well.”

-

“I think it’s time you get over this little crush of yours,” Gabriel said, setting two coffees on the cafe table.

“Excuse me?”

“You have been moping for nine days now. Nine. I’ve been counting. I’m a good brother like that.”

Castiel scowled, as he did often as of late, and took an angry sip. It burned his tongue, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t show weakness. “You’re crazy,” he said, “I do not have a crush on Dean. How would you feel if your friend up and vanished out of nowhere after promising to get in touch?”

“I’d feel like I’d been lied to and that they’re a douche anyway,” Gabriel said. “Besides, who said you two were friends?”

When Gabriel was fourteen, Lucifer, their second oldest brother, was the closest thing he had to a friend. When Lucifer turned nineteen, with a fraying green backpack slung over one shoulder, he walked out the door without looking back and never even said goodbye to Gabriel, who watched from the window.

“I thought that we were. Maybe he didn’t.”

“That’s right. Maybe he didn’t. You don’t need that in your life.”

Dean’s voice was like tumbling rocks. Castiel felt that they could buff out his edges given time. He thought he had time.

“Maybe he died. What if his car swerved off a road and into a ditch and nobody saw him in time to save him and he died,” Castiel said, “all alone.”

“You’ve gone loco coacoa.” Gabriel eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes soft. He looked at his baby brother and estimated how many coffees it would take for him to get over everything.

Too many.

“I’ll never know. No one will tell me.”

“What about the brother? Surely he would tell you if something tragic happened.”

“Why would he?” Castiel asked, burying his nails into the soft Styrofoam of his cup. “I’m just the guy on the radio.”

-

_“What the hell are you doing?”_

Dean winced and drew back from the screech of the phone. “Inside voice, Sam!” he snapped.

 _“Have you been listening to Midnight Matters?_ ”

Dean looked at his empty nightstand, the radio shoved under his bed. “No.”

_“So you aren’t aware that for the past week not only has your friend been giving you shout-outs but other listeners have been calling in to ask about you.”_

“What? No way,” Dean said. “And what makes you think that we’re friends? I barely know the guy. I don’t even know his name!”

_“So?”_

“I don’t know his day job or his favorite color or if he likes movies. I don’t know jack about the guy.”

_“Listen to me, Dean. I know that friends have been hard to come by-”_

“Sam-”

“ _No. Just listen to me.”_

Dean walked to the kitchen, turning on the lights despite the sun still filtering in through the curtains. The house felt too dim.

 _“I know that friends have been hard to come by. Hell, you’ve been working your whole life, so no one’s surprised that you haven’t had any real relationships._ ”

“I told the Midnight Matters guy, I’m telling you, I _have_ friends.”

 _“Then maybe you need something more.”_ Sam’s voice hadn’t been so sharp since the day their dad left. Even sharper was the click on the line signaling he had hung up.

Dean stood with the phone tucked against his shoulder and stared at the fridge. It was littered with pictures – of their mother, of them together…. There was even one of John. That was it. Dean didn’t have any pictures from parties or from hanging out with friends. He didn’t even have a picture of Jo, whom he would consider his best friend.

If he had to pick.

Every relationship he had ever been in had become a spiraling dive into self destruction. Girls that were pretty and smooth and kind that he couldn’t treat right… dates that ended early or badly or with stupid decisions that could be used to catalogue his decent into adulthood. Like a time stamp.

He opened a bottle of whiskey and skipped the tumbler, his hand trembling around the bottle’s neck.

Dean didn’t like to think about it because when he did, it occurred to him that he had ruined his fair share of relationships, if not all of them. That just made him drink more, and when he drank, the alcohol churned his stomach and buried all the bad feelings that he had brought up.

-

Life had a way of reassuring its victims. It was easy to sit at a desk, stare blankly at your hands and wonder why you have no control over anything. Forrest Gump said that life was like a box of chocolates, but he never said it was like the two dollar Russell Stovers where even the pieces you _should_ like on principle, fall short. Castiel had been stewing for a while. In his numerous thought processes, the idea that Dean had moved on crept over him like frost bite.

He even splashed cream and sugar and liquor in his usually plain black coffee. The cup whispered, _drink me._

“You’re live on Midnight Matters, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” Castiel asked, chin resting on one hand and gaze drooping.

_“Hi… It’s me. I mean, it’s Dean.”_

Castiel closed his eyes, repeating to himself _it’s Dean, It’s Dean._ He took a deep breath and swallowed, his limbs shook with excitement, terror, relief, _something_.

“Hello, Dean,” he whispered, concerned for the inflection of his voice. It only wavered, thankfully.

_“I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been in a bit of a rut.”_

Castiel understood that. He understood standing in front of an open fridge and finding nothing to satisfy. “How are things now?”

_“Better. Much better. Sam’s adjusted to California already. He still listens to your show. He told me about the… the calls and stuff.”_

“Have you been listening?” Castiel asked.

_“Like I said, I’ve been in a rut.”_

“Isn’t it quiet over there?” Castiel’s voice had dropped back into a whisper. There was a performing aspect about his shows, his topics, but that all crumbled away. Maybe it was the alcohol or the loneliness that threatened him each time he answered the phone and it wasn’t Dean’s voice that he heard.

_“Of course it’s quiet, I just don’t see how filling up all the empty space with a radio show is gonna help.”_

“The strangest of things can be therapeutic.”

_“Have you been talking to Sam? I don’t need therapy.”_

Castiel smiled. “No, your brother has not called since our first encounter, and who would not benefit from a bit of therapy?”

 _“Well, if you’re listening to this, Sam, dick off,”_ Dean snapped.

“Can you tell me why you’ve been in a rut, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean was silent for a moment. “ _Well, it’s kind of hard to explain without spilling my guts to the insomniacs of America.”_

“Insomniacs make great listeners, they have little other choice.”

Dean laughed. Castiel hadn’t heard Dean outright laugh in weeks. The sound was much missed, but it stopped all too soon.

“ _It’s just that my dad stopped by.”_

Various names flashed across Castiel’s mind. Jo, Ellen, Sam… “I wasn’t aware he was still in the picture.”

_“He’s not, I guess that why it got me down, you know? Sometimes when people are gone long enough, it’s best for them to stay gone.”_

“Did you tell him that?”

_“Sort of.”_

“Sort of?”

_“I threw him out. He and Sammy, well, they never really got along, you know? But Sam’s my number one. If he doesn’t want anything to do with Sam then he doesn’t want anything to do with me. We’re a package deal. He can’t just wait for Sam to leave and then try to get chummy with me again, that’s not alright.”_

Castiel thought back on his own father who had been swept away by a storm. He was young then, and didn’t remember much of what his father would say except _be good._ He didn’t know what that meant. He asked Gabriel, who told him being good was overrated. He asked Michael, who told him to wash his hands of sin. Castiel even asked himself when he looked in the mirror at his bloodshot eyes and the wrinkles that came early.

“No, Dean,” he murmured, “it’s not.”

“ _It’s funny.”_

“Hmn?”

_“I have no idea what your name is.”_

It almost fell right out of his mouth. It would have had he not been taking the last long sip of his drink. It would be so easy to just tell him.

“You’ve said for yourself that I’m sort of an angel. A name is just a detail.”

_“I’m new to this show, so this is probably a stupid question, but, do any of your listeners know your name?”_

“This show isn’t about me.”

 _“None then? What do you look like?”_ Dean asked.

Castiel looked down at his wrinkled, button-up and grimaced.

“Irrelevant.”

 _“Humor me?”_ Dean’s voice felt warm again. Castiel would do what he could to keep it that way.

“I’m six feet tall. My eyes are blue. I weigh one hundred and seventy-two pounds…”

_“Those are some pretty boring details.”_

"Alas, I am a pretty boring person. What about you, Dean? Our listeners are probably desperate to know what you look like."

 _“Isn’t it obvious?”_ Dean teased. _“I’m devilishly handsome_.”

“You heard him, listeners, Dean of Lawrence, Kansas is both clever and attractive. Beware, lest you fall prey to his charms.”

_“Do you think they’ll heed your warning?”_

Castiel thought about the past week and a half, of each night spent wishing he could hear even a single word from the stranger in Kansas. He thought about the encroaching dread of loss. Mostly, he thought about the way Dean talked about Sam, and the way Dean talked about love, and how different the two subjects sounded when they came from his mouth, although not being very different at all. 

“It’s probably already too late,” Castiel said, his throat dry. “You’ve been listening to Midnight Matters and the very much missed voice of Lawrence, Kansas. Sweet dreams, America. Sweet dreams, Dean. Remember, you are not alone. You are never alone.”

He didn’t want to hang up, but he had to. 


	7. Her hair wasn’t the only thing that changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a family thing. And family is more than blood, it’s who you know. Who is there for you. Who you wish was there. The voice you want to hear when you answer the phone. The people you love that love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. it's late and I'm soooo sorrrrryyyy. I suck. I'm terrible. Augh. Anyway, I have one last final and then a move back to Texas for the summer, but I'll try to update by next weekend. Also, I will be making a playlist for Midnight Matters of music that I'd imagine Cas plays in between his rambles. A lot of the music is inspired by his and Dean's situation and pays homage to the canon!verse. I love to hear from every one of you.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter seven – Her hair wasn’t the only thing that changed

 

“It just sucks to feel so… alone,” Dean said, the phone jammed into the crevice of his neck. In his arm he held a mixing bowl and beat at it briskly. “I mean, I know I’m not _really_ alone, but God, it feels like it sometimes in this house. It used to be full, a long time ago.”

A tray of stuffing sat on the counter, wrapped in cellophane. Dean poured the whipped, orange contents of his bowl into the pie crust beside it. It settled in its nest perfectly, not a drop spilled.

“Now it’s just me.”

_“Life changes slowly. By the time we notice, it is often too late._ ”

“Thanks. That’s what I needed to hear,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“ _I apologize. Is Sam not returning for Thanksgiving?_ ” the man asked. The clock on the wall flickered _3:10_. The kitchen was warm with the smell of meat and sugar. _“I thought that he would_.”

“I did, too. He met some girl. Figures. Name’s Jessica. She invited him and a few others to a cabin or something. It’s pretty suspicious if you ask me,” Dean said, slipping the pumpkin pie into the oven. “Who knows what they are up to?”

_“Remember, Dean, Sam is an adult and is perfectly capable of making responsible decisions. Besides, he hardly seems like the type to get into any trouble_.”

“Hah. So even you can tell he’s just a big nerd.”

_“Yes. Yes, I can._ ”

Dean’s cackle was sharp and he hoped to the universe itself that Sam hadn’t given up his old habits and was listening. Perhaps even alongside the lot of his friends. But then again, what would he say? _Hey, you hear that guy griping on the radio? That’s my brother!_ In fact, Dean wasn’t sure if Sam ever really mentioned him at all.

_“Do you have any plans?”_ the man asked.

“I’m making a few dishes right now to take over to Bobby’s tomorrow.”

_“That’s nice of you. Will you be joining them for dinner?”_

“I’ll probably just stop by. It’s him and Jody’s first holiday together and I don’t want to intrude.”

_“Did they say anything to imply that your presence would be an intrusion?”_

Dean stared at the stack of dishes wrapped and ready to take on over. “No.”

_“Dean, please tell me you aren’t planning to just be alone for Thanksgiving?”_

Dean was quiet.

“ _Dean?_ ”

-

Bobby’s house was a landmark in Dean’s upbringing. The surplus of books, dirty dishes, and whiskey bottles had always been welcoming. But on Thanksgiving, when Dean arrived with several trays of food, something was… off.

“Hello, Dean. Please come in,” Jody said, her hair shorter than he remembered. Every time Dean saw her, she trimmed a bit more off.

Her hair wasn’t the only thing that changed. The books that normally lay scattered across the room had all been filed away in a brand new dresser. Those that did not fit had been stacked atop it according to size. The whiskey bottles were gone from the coffee table and the coffee table itself had been moved across the room. The living area seemed almost twice as large.

“Wow. You really cleaned up,” Dean said, an eyebrow raised and his fists clenching and unclenching.

“You got a problem with how I usually keep it?” Bobby asked in his typical, gruff voice. He rested against the doorframe of the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and arms crossed. His wrinkled and calloused hands stood out against his plum button-up and slicked-back hair. “Cause you can walk your butt right back out.”

“Hey, Bobby.” Jody took the trays from Dean, freeing his hands to go in for a hug. Bobby’s arms around him squeezed much tighter than usual and Dean could not help but think he must have looked particularly pathetic. “Were you just doing dishes?”

“Shut it, you Idjit, unless you want to eat out of the dog bowl.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have a dog bowl.”

“Alright, you two,” Jody interrupted, placing the tray on the counter and unwrapping it. The house already smelled of warm turkey and lit candles, but the smell of pumpkin pie and stuffing settled in nicely. “Are you going to help me set the table or am I gonna have to do everything myself?”

“Bossy,” Bobby said beneath his breath. He was out of the kitchen before Jody finished raising her serving spoon at him. Dean was right beside him.

“Things have changed around here,” he said, helping his long-time father figure adjust the cloth over the old, nicked table Bobby had owned for years. Sitting atop was a lit candle.

“Change isn’t always a bad thing, Dean,” Bobby said. “It can be revitalizing, especially for my old bones.” Bobby leaned over to peek back into the kitchen, where Jody had just pulled out three beers.

Dean followed his gaze. “Revitalizing. Gross.” He ducked away from the hand that swung at him, and smiled. “I’m happy for you, really.”

Jody joined them, beers in her arms.

“No need for that,” Dean said when she held one out to him. “I was just dropping the food off. I’m not staying.”

“Excuse me?” she said, eyebrows hitting her hairline. “I think I misheard you.”

“There must be something up with my ears, too, because I swear you just said you weren’t staying,” Bobby said, scowling and making a spectacle of picking at his ear with his pinkie finger.

“Come on, you guys. You don’t want me here. You’re gonna have your nice little dinner with your candle and I don’t want to intrude on that.”

Jody’s expression stayed frozen as she walked to the table, picked the candle off of it, and blew it out.

“I knew it was too tacky,” she said, popping a beer open and placing it in front of Dean. “Get seated, we don’t want the food getting cold.”Jody walked back into the kitchen.

“But I’m not-”

“Trust me, boy, you lost this argument the moment you walked in the door,” Bobby said. He thumped Dean’s back and smiled. Dean had never noticed how many crinkles there were at the corners of his eyes. Maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention.

-

Before going to the studio for the night, Castiel stopped by his apartment in hopes to sit on his couch and watch terrible TV for half an hour. Instead, he found his spot occupied by his short but enthusiastic brother. The man had a towel thrown over him as a blanket and made the same chirping noises in his sleep that Castiel remembered from when the Novak’s still shared a house.

Castiel closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated, loud sigh. When Gabriel did not stir, he decided waking the man would prove far more troublesome than letting him sleep.

He didn’t turn on any lights, just opened the fridge and let it illuminate. Beside his array of water bottles, Castiel found a plate wrapped in tinfoil with his name scrawled on it in sharpie. He took the foreign object out and, placing it on the counter, unwrapped it.

Inside was three slices of turkey breast, a scoop of stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, broccoli with rice and cheese, cranberry sauce, and a white roll. The food was bursting over the plate’s edges, and although cold, still smelled of a welcoming evening.

Anna and Balthazar had both wished Castiel a happy Thanksgiving over a shared lunch that afternoon. It was about all the celebration Castiel needed. He didn’t know how Gabriel did it, but as he warmed up the feast, Castiel thought to himself, _it’s good to have family_.

The phone in his pocket buzzed over the gentle hum of the microwave. Castiel brought it to his ear with a smile and said, “Dean?” before he realized what he had done.

The ground was unsteady beneath him. The whir of the microwave became grating and the voice, decidedly not Dean, spoke but Castiel could not hear it. He stared at the flickering of the screen but could not read it. The microwave screeched and the food’s aroma flooded the kitchen, but his phone still blinked and the person kept calling his name and it wasn’t Dean and it couldn’t have been Dean anyway because Dean did not know his number.

“ _Castiel? Are you there?_ ”

“What is wrong with me?” Castiel asked himself, reading and rereading Anna’s name.

He really wanted it to be Dean.

The microwave kept screeching.

-

“Are you ever going to tell me your name?” Dean asked, laughing. He’d just put away two boxes of leftovers and could still feel the buzz of beer in his head from the dinner that ran well past midnight. It was ablaze with friendly conversation about work and Sam and Dean never wanted to leave.

“ _When the time comes_.”

“That’s not vague at all.”

“ _It was intended to be._ ”

Dean sat at the table; across from him was the chair Sam once claimed as his own. “I can’t just keep calling you that angel on the rad- uh…”

Laughter rang from the phone, warmer than the feelings in Dean’s stomach, leftover from dinner. “ _You may call me whatever you’d like, Dean._ ”

Sam’s chair seemed less empty, somehow.

“It almost feels like you’re here,” Dean said, envisioning a blue-eyed figure that was six feet tall and weighed one hundred and seventy-two pounds sitting across from him.

The image was grainy, but Dean swore he could see it say, _“I am there, Dean. I am there in heart.”_

-

Sam felt bad about leaving Dean alone, but there was a certain pressure put on him from his peers. He liked Jessica. She was beautiful and smart and funny. Sam followed her to her cabin because it would have been crazy not to. After all, it was just him and a few fellow friends. What was the worst that could happen?

Jessica had a cousin named Ruby. Ruby was Dean’s age and wore a leather jacket that stank of alcohol, her eyes as sharp as her attitude. She took one look at Sam, sized up the gentle giant, and had declared to everyone, Jessica included, “Dibs.”

She was dark and peculiar and abrasive. Sam didn’t stand a chance. He found himself stroking his fingers through her large curls and watching the light from the fireplace tumble over her eyelashes. Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have blown Jessica off for her cousin, but the soft tan of Ruby’s wrists suggested otherwise.

They waltzed around each other for days.

When Sam thought everyone was asleep from their Thanksgiving feast, he crept into the kitchen to find the radio. He quickly tuned in to Midnight Matters, not surprised at all to hear his brother’s voice.

_“Yeah, I stayed after all. They wouldn’t let me leave_.”

“ _That is because they love you, Dean.”_

“What’s that?” Sam startled at the voice. Ruby stood in the doorway in nothing but a t-shirt and lace underwear. Sam kept his gaze trained on her face.

“Midnight Matters. It’s a radio show,” he said. She walked toward him. In the dark, she was like a daze or a dream.

“ _My brother brought me quite the meal. I could not hope to eat it all._ ”

“ _Well, then you’re not trying hard enough._ ”

“I didn’t peg you as the type,” Ruby said, leaning against his side. “Is this one of those self-help things? Figures you’re crazy. I knew it was too good to be true.”

Sam rolled his eyes and gave her a gentle shove in the shoulder. “That’s my brother,” he said, and he didn’t know why he said it. He hadn’t meant to.

“ _What are you thankful for, Dean?”_

“ _Right now? Your unwavering tolerance of me.”_

“ _Don’t be ridiculous, you are hardly intolerable.”_

“Which one?” Ruby asked.

“Dean.”

Ruby and Sam stood in the dark, watching the red light on the radio, listening as it spoke to them.

-

In Topeka, Kansas, Charlie laid on her bed. Her laptop was out and she typed vigorously as the radio beside her spoke.

_LK: I feel like you can’t possibly be that irritated with him if you just let him get away with it all the time._

_MM: I promise, I am often ready to string him up by his hair. Alas, that requires strenuous effort._

_LK: Good to know you’re too lazy to ever become a true criminal_.

Charlie laughed, her fingers flying across the keys. She was careful to not miss a word, but even if she did, certainly other members of the forum would also be transcribing.

A dark haired woman peaked through her door.

“Lawrence, Kansas again?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Technically, not anymore,” Charlie said. She saved the file and set her laptop aside. The others would have to continue for her. “But I get it. Come over here, Dorothy.”

Dorothy smiled and slipped into bed beside Charlie.

“ _It’s a family thing. And family is more than blood, it’s who you know. Who is there for you. Who you wish was there. The voice you want to hear when you answer the phone. The people you love that love you.”_

_“You capture it beautifully, Dean.”_

_“Oh, shut up.”_

-

Jody had her head pressed against Bobby’s shoulder. They sat together on his beaten-down couch and she had to fight to keep her eyes from closing.

_“What is it that makes up love?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Surely you’ve got an idea.”_

Bobby ran his hand through Jody’s cropped hair, the gentle sensations driving her further into bliss. She tried to stay awake, to focus on the voices that drifted from the radio.

“ _It’s kind of like a puzzle I guess. Even if you have all the right pieces, it can be difficult and it takes a lot of time and effort.”_

_“What happens when you’ve finished it?”_

_“Well, you put it on the table and tell your little brother you’ll kick his ass if he touches it.”_

_“Dean!”_

_“I’m serious though. Be proud of it, and don’t let anyone or anything fuck it up.”_

Jody’s mouth hung open in her slumber. Bobby could feel her soft breath against his jaw.

 

 


	8. You’ve burned into my bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was scared. They never really let me hold Sam, at least not without supervision. I stood in the road and when I turned back, the house was spitting fire out of every window. The ground had turned black from ash and there was a constant crackle, like popcorn, and one by one the walls began to crumple. I remember coughing. I remember Sam coughing. And then my dad was there, but my mom wasn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this is so late! I did a move back home to Texas and it ended up being a mini vacation! I got to visit White Sands National and Roswell NM so I had a lot of fun! Now that I'm back home and classes are over, I hope to get this out as often as I can. Thanks for all the wonderful comments, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter eight – You’ve burned into my bones

 

If Dean kept his eye closed, he could see the arm and the naked shoulder that guided it. It started with the sweet brush of knuckles across the tender dip of his thighs. An open palm pressed a determined trail up and across his hip bones. The hand was large and although the nails were chipped, they gave a perfect scrape across his fevered skin. Heat accumulated in the pit of his stomach and his groin, churning and pushing a swift exhale from his lungs.

Dean pressed a forearm over his eyes and let the hand, calloused, scrape at the underside of his twitching cock. He wanted a mouth on it… on him… to leave slick kisses just under the curve of his ribs. He could feel the tick of the old clock on the wall whistle through his veins, just off-kilter with his fourth note heartbeat. The cold air that seeped under the oak door scratched at the shield of his blanket where it could not reach him, not in his cocoon of sweat and steam.

The hand finally wrapped itself around him and held his base, teasing. A tug. A second, far crueler tug. Dean’s forearm pressed harder until he saw flashes of stars on the back of his eyelids from the pressure. Then the hand really began to work him all while a voice rattled in his head. It whispered, _Dean_ , and he came with a distorted gasp.

Dean threw the blanket off himself, wiping his hand across its damp edge.

In the shower, he tried to pretend that he had no idea who the voice belonged to.

-

Castiel still didn’t like Crowley. As nice as it was to have the reassurance of his alliance, the man’s bloodshot eyes and perfectly ironed suit kept him on his toes around the station head. He wasn’t afraid. In fact, Castiel was certain that he _should_ be afraid of the stout man, but was unable.

“Well, well, well…” Crowley said, crossing his arms. “If someone had told me two months ago that your little _Midnight Matters_ would become the top rated show on the station, I would have scoffed.” He imitated the exaggerated and quite painful sounding gesture.

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“You heard me. Top rated. The numero uno slot.”

Castiel had to sit down, but he was already seated. He needed to lie down.

“If this persists, not only will I renew your contract, but I’ll find myself forced to expand it.” The man brushed nonexistent dust off of his shoulder, as if he hadn’t just offered to guarantee Castiel his future. “Perhaps a considerable pay raise?”

“Do you mean this?” Castiel asked, doubt nipping at his insides.

“Absolutely. You’ve got big things ahead of you, Mr. Novak.” The ‘k’ was said with great emphasis. “And as for Dean Winchester, well, I’m just waiting for the opportunity to send him a bottle of Evan Williams, if you know what I mean.”

Castiel didn’t.

“It’s not drawing too much attention to him, is it?” Castiel asked. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his shoulders.

“Does it matter?”

The man exited with a flurry of his coat and Castiel wasn’t sure how anyone could make so much noise leaving a room. He sat at the board table with his fingers crossed on his lap and the empty Styrofoam cup on the edge taunting him.

“It matters,” he said to no one, and tipped the cup over.

-

It wasn’t the bed’s fault that Dean kept waking up hard with a consistency he hadn’t suffered through since high school. It was Dean’s own fault (and perhaps, Sam’s absence) that rather than letting the problem fix itself, he wrapped himself up in the morning and imagined his ministrations being those of someone else… someone with a distinct voice that he knew well enough to make it say just what he needed to go over the edge.

It wasn’t the bed’s fault, but he slept on the couch anyway in an attempt to stave off the desire. With his shoulders settled in the broken corner and his cheek against the armrest, Dean slept fitfully.

It might have been the smell of alcohol that never quite washed out of the upholstery or the tender touch of his mother’s blanket settled over him, but he dreamt of her. More specifically, the way she curtained over him while he slept. Her hair was curled and the collar of her white, lace shirt was the same as the picture on he kept on the dresser. It was as though she had stepped right out of it. Mary reached down to brush a bead of sweat from her son’s forehead. Her caress was familiar even after so many years.

When Dean woke up, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever be able to sleep again.

He picked up the phone.  

-

_“I dreamt about my mom,_ ” Dean said.

“Is that unusual?” Castiel asked, turning in his chair to fish through his computer for a track. Dean had called at just about the end of his session, much to his displeasure.

“ _It’s just been a while is all. I used to have nightmares about her all the time, but recently, it’s been pretty quiet.”_

“Nightmares?”

The line was silent.

“ _Did I ever tell you about how my mother died?”_

“Not that I recall.”

“ _It’s probably the most vivid memory I have._ ”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Castiel asked. “If you would like.”

“ _I was asleep when the fire started. I mean, I was supposed to be. I was only four. My mom tucked me into bed earlier and she smelled like this cheap perfume that she loved because my dad bought it for her, even though she deserved better._ ”

Castiel closed his eyes and imagined it, like rancid flowers.

“ _I would have slept through the smoke. Just laid there and died because I was a heavy sleeper. When my dad showed, shaking my shoulders, I thought it was morning already. I thought that I was late for breakfast, and that’s when I noticed the smoke._ ”

“You remember how it smelled?”

_“Yeah. Like when my dad burned pancakes or the time we had a bonfire at Bobby’s, but more sour. My dad dragged me out of bed and shoved a bundle in arms… told me to run. I didn’t realize until I was down the hall that the bundle was Sam.”_

“Dean…”

“ _I was scared. They never really let me hold Sam, at least not without supervision. I stood in the road and when I turned back, the house was spitting fire out of every window. The ground had turned black from ash and there was a constant crackle, like popcorn, and one by one the walls began to crumple. I remember coughing. I remember Sam coughing. And then my dad was there, but my mom wasn’t.”_

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, rubbing his eyes. “No one should be burdened by such a vivid trauma.”

“ _She died in Sam’s nursery. They said the smoke got her first. In my dreams, she burns alive, floating like an angel_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _And she looks at me.”_

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

-

Dean was becoming _accustomed_ to the voice on the radio. In fact, it remained as consistent in his routine as going to work or doing the dishes. Sometimes it felt like more... like carpet rash. Dean had come to know the man’s voice the way he knew his own skewed reflection. Well, but always filtered.

Dean knew that people sounded different on the phone. That was okay. He knew the voice, and the voice knew him.

“ _I like to think the two of us have become close.”_

“What can be said? You’ve burned into my bones.” Dean rifled through the pile of unopened envelopes on his table. There were over forty.

“ _You make it sound so tragic._ ”

“Isn’t it? I know you so well but I don’t know you at all.”

“ _Circumstances are not friendly, but we should be grateful for their given opportunity._ ”

“Yeah. Probably. Many seem to have jumped on an opportunity of their own.”

_“What do you mean?”_

Dean scowled at the various names written in excessive cursive, some riddled with hearts.

“Someone leaked my address. Probably some douche from work. I’ve been getting what I can only refer to as fan mail.”

“ _What?”_

“I’ve got almost fifty on my table right now. So I guess this goes out to your other listeners, but you guys are wasting your time. I’m not reading it.” Dean crumpled one of the letters, as if making a point. “You hear me, you vultures? I’m not opening a single one!”

Dean wanted to know who had recognized him, turned around and said, _hey, here’s that guy’s address. Have fun_. Damn them if he ever found out.

“ _I am sorry to hear of this latest development. Listeners, please respect Dean’s privacy and cease your attempts to make contact._ ”

“Thanks. And you know Sam won’t let this fan mail thing go. I told him this morning and he laughed ‘til I hung up on him. You’re the one I want to talk to, not them.”

Why did he say that?

“Dean,” the man said.

“I got a plant,” Dean stammered, desperate to back out. “It’s small, but it’s supposed to get flowers on it so… that’s cool. Things are cool.”

“ _Things are cool,_ ” the man repeated.

“Yeah, things are cool.”

-

It was the first time Castiel had been to the man’s apartment, but he could not find the energy to admire it.

“I’m beyond furious.”

“It’s alright, Cassie. You need to calm down.”

He probably did need to calm down. He’d slammed every door he came across since leaving the station the night before. Gabriel looked at him with a constant wince and it was deserved.

“Did you find out who leaked it?” Castiel asked, helping himself to his brother’s stash of whiskey.

“I was prepared to dedicate the entirety of my afternoon digging through copious sources for you, brother, but it was the first result I found,” Gabriel said opening his laptop and placing it on the kitchen table.

 “Have you ever heard of Bela Talbot?”

Castiel shot a scowl at Gabriel and finished his glass, refilling it. “Doesn’t she have a gossip column?”

“That would be correct. And you think the address is bad? You have to see what aired this morning. You might wanna sit down.” Gabriel sounded serious, so Castiel was terrified.

Castiel stumbled over to the couch. Its leather creaked where he sat. On the large screen was a video waiting to be played. The screenshot was of a woman with long, winding curls of light brown hair and a black dress. She sat on a chair across from another woman with straight black hair.

“That’s Bela,” Gabriel said, pointing to the first woman. “The other is Tessa. This is her show.”

Castiel had a bad feeling about it all, especially when the first thing Bela said upon pressing play was, “ _I’m here to talk about Dean Winchester._ ”

_“Are you a fan of Midnight Matters_?” Tessa asked her. The two of them kept their backs straight as if trying to out-proper the other.

_“Hardly. I listen nightly because haven’t you heard? It’s all the rage right now._ ”

“ _You said before that you met Dean Winchester, how would you describe him_?”

Bela tossed her hair back and laughed. “ _That’s hard. Dean Winchester is everything that he is made out to be on Midnight Matters. He’s dreamy and polite and one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met. I didn’t know eyes could be as green as his._ ”

The audience laughed and Castiel swallowed.

“ _But that boy, not man, boy, has more issues than are worth approaching. If we’re being honest, which I intend to be, Dean Winchester is problematic.”_

_“That seems a bit harsh, doesn’t it?”_ Tessa said.

_“I’ve been listening to Midnight Matters for a while now, but I am not going to lie and say that I ever gave it a second thought until Mr. Winchester joined our dear host, whom has refused under all circumstances to reveal him name. It’s suspicious how even his most open listeners are not granted the permission.”_

“Wow,” Gabriel whistled. Castiel could not muster a word.

_“It’s been very clear all along that Dean suffers from codependency. What with his emotional unbalance at the loss of his brother, when in reality the ‘loss’ is nothing but a normal and inevitable separation.”_

_“You don’t think that the host has been helping him to deal with that codependency?”_

_“Absolutely not. Nobody is dealing with it. In fact, our mystery man is only making Dean dependant on him, rather than his brother. Midnight Matters is the number one slot as of this week on The Hound radio station. They are romanticizing an unhealthy relationship and everyone is on board. This isn’t what Dean needs. What he needs is a therapist. These two are toxic to each other, and I blame Midnight Matters entirely. He’s holding a bone out to a starved dog behind glass and calls it helping… has everyone worshiping him for his glorified kindness. Last night Dean said that the man had burned into his bones, and listeners everywhere swooned.”_

_“What is your disdain of this love affair? Isn’t this the business of these two alone?”_

_“But it’s not. What happens when you take thousands of problematic people and give them a terribly detrimental example of how to fix themselves? They are following this road of self destruction almost religiously. Dean Winchester has entire forums dedicated to him. Viewers transcribe every word he says like it’s gospel. This isn’t just two men being problematic… it’s more than that.”_

_“Thank you, Ms. Talbot._ ”

Castiel would have launched the laptop across the room had Gabriel not grabbed his wrists.

“Stop it,” he said as Castiel yanked back. “Don’t let her work you up.”

“She’s right.”

“No, she’s not.”

“All I’m doing is hurting Dean.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Her words, like a hot wire, scraped off his skin in layers. He was supposed to be helping people… when did it become just helping Dean? Castiel didn’t care about those others listening in, being influenced by his own destructive bond, if it meant severing it. He wanted to say that it was none of their business, but he remembered Crowley in the conference room, proving that Bela was not wrong. It was never Castiel and Dean. It never had been. It was Castiel and Dean and the world that had paused for a while to listen in. To care.

“She’s right because this is about us, Gabriel. Maybe it has been for a while.” Castiel choked back a lump in his throat. “It was supposed to be about Dean needing something… but now…”

“Now?” Gabriel asked, holding his arm far more gently.

“Now it’s about me needing him.”

-

“This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“He doesn’t read them anyway.”

Gabriel slammed his hand on the table, startling Castiel. “Exactly! He won’t read it anyway so why worry? It’s the perfect way to get your feelings out. At least, enough so that you can handle all this crap rationally.”

Castiel stared at the blank paper in front of him, knuckles tight around his pen.

“Write it. Send it. He’ll never read it. This is just for you.”

Castiel gripped the pen tighter.

 


	9. Only good things, Radio Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tonight, I want to talk about acceptance. As usual, I have several analogies to begin the segment with, although I am skeptical as to whether or not any of you are even listening tonight. If not, I am in complete understanding. It is, after all, Christmas morning, and all the good boys and girls should be sleeping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm terrible! I am aware of this! I'm sorry this chapter has been so long in the making! I hope you enjoy it, and have a lovely day! Feel free to contact me on my tumblr or anywhere, give me a nudge to get my ass in gear to work on this! LOVE YOU
> 
> UPDATE: I now have a tumblr dedicated entirely to my fanfiction, so no more rifling through my fandom blog! Follow me for updates at MaliceLikesToWrite(dot)tumblr(dot)com

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter nine – Only good things, Radio Star

 

The Roadhouse was Ellen’s place. Built on a half acre lot with a bag of nickels and a big dream, the Roadhouse was a stop off the highway to home. That was what Ellen said, something she wrote on the sign that hung crooked over the double doors.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Lawrence, Kansas himself,” Ellen said, slapping her wash rag onto the counter. She didn’t look a day over thirty in her black tank top, her taught, muscular upper arms exposed. She had always looked that way. “Fancy seein’ you here. Since you’re so famous now, I figured you wouldn’t have time for us little people.”

“Good to see you too, Ellen,” Dean said, sitting on the stool in front of her. Ellen’s smile was toothy and even the skin on her cheeks seemed to glow from it. She placed a beer down.

“On the house, Radio Star.”

“Thanks.” Dean took a long chug of his drink, willing the heat away from his face. “How long have you known?”

“Hmn, about three weeks now. I can’t really catch it every night, but sometimes when I’m doing inventory,” she pointed at a brown radio on the shelf that looked older than she was, “I listen.”

“What’s with the antique?”

“It was my mother’s, you little snot.”

“Sorry,” Dean said. “Speaking of the, uh, joys of motherhood…”

“Didn’t anyone mention?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Mention what?”

“Jo is doing an internship in Virginia. I thought she told you?”

Thinking back to the last time they had spoken, Dean did recall Jo having mentioned something along the lines of submitting applications for such a thing, but that had been during his initial downward spiral at Sam’s announcement that he was skipping town. He hadn’t quite found the time to chat ever since.

“I guess it never came up.”

Ellen looked at him like she knew how he wasted his days moping and working himself ragged. She probably _did_ know, if she was listening to Midnight Matters. Everyone knew, if the excessive amount of letters he had been receiving even after… _The Man’s_ special request for them not to. Dean was grateful every day that he never bothered with email and that somehow, which he would never mention out loud lest he jinx himself, they had not uncovered his phone number.

The last thing he wanted to worry about was his phone ringing off the hook.

Ellen crossed her arms and assumed a pose that was probably intended to be non-threatening but she was _Ellen_.

“You know,” she said. “My door is always open. Well, technically we close at eleven but for you, it’s open.”

“Thanks, Ellen.”

“And you best only be sayin’ good things about me to that buddy of yours.”

“And if I don’t?” Dean teased, drinking the last of his beer.

“Just saying, anything could have been in that.”

Dean coughed and looked down into the empty bottle. Leaning closer, he sniffed it. No strange odors. Dean gave the woman the same big, glossy eyes that Sam always pulled on him, to which she scoffed.

“Only good things, Radio Star.”                                                                     

Dean would have to be sure to think twice before accepting an open beer again.

-

Castiel wished he could say that Bela Talbot’s brief televised segment hadn’t affected ratings whatsoever, but he couldn’t. In the weeks since, the number of listeners had been declining. Slowly at first, and then suddenly, over half faded away. There were still far more than before, but Crowley would not be pleased. He could feel his promised contract and pay-raise drifting away.

Castiel rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He tried to tell himself that they’d all be back. That they probably just panicked because…

Well, because Bela had been right. Possibly exaggerating a bit… but right nonetheless. Dean’s voice dragged him from his musings.

_“I killed my plant.”_

“What? Dean, it’s been a week.”

 _“I don’t know what happened. It just kinda- flopped over. I thought that only happened in cartoons._ ”

“Did you water it?” Castiel asked, jaw a bit slack.

_“Of course!”_

“Did you over water it?”

_“You… you can do that?”_

Castiel had been having a terrible day. It began with Balthazar grieving over the phone for the Midnight Matters’ recent descent and ended with Castiel slamming his hand in the car door in the studio parking lot. There was also a fair share of spilled coffee, traffic violations, and a brief but aggressive confrontation at the gas station with an elderly woman in a wheelchair that resulted in a bruised shin and a ding just beneath his rearview mirror. But still, Dean made him smile.

“Yes, Dean. That’s a thing.”

 _“Well, damn._ ”

-

“I’ve been trying to keep myself occupied.”

_“Has your job been uneventful?”_

“Severely. I can’t remember the last time I worked on something that wasn’t a Honda Accord.” Dean plucked at a thread that had begun to unwind from the collar of his shirt. He would cut it off, if he could find the damned scissors. Dean hadn’t seen them since Sam left, and he was just grateful he never really needed them.

Dean kept tugging at the thread.

“ _I see that botany isn’t working out._ ”

“Yeah. Neither is rock collecting.”

_“You’re rock collecting?”_

“Well, I was. I also tried stamp collecting, kite building, and crafting ships in a bottle.”

There was a sharp breath over the line and Dean scowled. He knew he was being laughed at.

_“You built ships in a bottle?”_

“It was more of a theoretical interest. You know, they always make rock or stamp collecting look so interesting on TV but it’s not. It’s the most boring thing I’ve ever done… and I used to skip school and hide in trees for entire afternoons.”

“ _What would you do in the trees?”_

“I’d count the leaves.”

Even then, Dean found himself watching the branches that bowed at the window, tracing with his gaze the brittle edges of the dead December leaves.

_“How many were there?”_

“I don’t know. I always lost my place.”  

-

“I don’t get it,” Dean said. The whistle of wind carried snowflakes across his ears.  

“She’s going to be staying with us for… well, indefinitely,” Bobby said, scratching the raw patch at the back of his neck that was only raw because he had been scratching it all night. “I know it isn’t the best timing.”

“You just moved in together,” Dean said. “Are you sure it’s a good time to take on a kid? Not even a kid, a teenager?”

“She’s Jody’s niece. There hasn’t been any word from her mother in weeks. She’s been living alone and nobody even noticed.”

There was a flicker of familiarity. Nights spent brushing a hand over Sam’s shoulder and promising him, _Dad will be home soon,_ like a Lifetime special.

The girl sat in Jody’s cruiser. Jody herself leaning over the half-open window and saying something that was lost to the two men. Dean and Bobby stood side by side with their arms crossed, watching the exchange. The girl kept her head down, a pile of dark hair sweeping over her eyes.

“What’s her name?” Dean asked.

-

“ _Alex Annie Alexis Ann.”_

“Is there an acronym for that?” Castiel asked, laughing loudly.

“ _I’m serious! That’s her name._ ”

“Is ‘Ann’ a surname?”

“ _I’m actually not sure_ ,” Dean said. Castiel could picture the scowl, however vague his imaginary features may be. “ _I should ask_.”

“I am assuming that this newly united trio will be spending Christmas together?”

“ _That would be correct._ ”

“And what of yourself?”

“ _Sam is coming home._ ”

“That’s wonderful!” Castiel said, smiling. He tried not to think about his own holiday plans. He may be coerced into some ritual with Balthazar, Anna, and Gabriel the day before, but Christmas day would be, strikingly, alone.

“ _And… he requested to bring home a guest._ ”

“The girl he spent Thanksgiving with? What was her name?”

“ _Jessica. And he didn’t say, but I’d bet on it._ ”

There was a joy in Dean’s voice. And why wouldn’t there be? Surely he felt some sort of parental pride having Sam bring someone home to him, seeking approval. No one had to tell Castiel that Dean had transcended past brotherhood a long time ago, and that was equal parts touching and despairing.

“ _I bet she’s nice, you know? Sam is the straight-A, hair parted neatly on the side, pressed cuffs kind of guy. I bet she’s the exact same._ ”

“Be careful before you speak. You might be surprised.”

 _“But it’s_ Sam _._ ”

-

“I don’t know if I’m suited to be father material.”

“What?” Dean demanded, dropping his socket wrench. It clattered across the concrete floor. “Is that a joke?”

“She won’t talk to me. She won’t even look at me for longer than it takes to say, _pass the salt, please_. I can’t do it,” Bobby said, leaning against Dean’s current project. “She’s fifteen years of anger and skepticism.”

“Come on, Bobby. You and Ellen practically raised me.”

“That was all Ellen. All I did was give you a place to practice shooting.”

“And make sure Dad didn’t get us killed,” Dean said. Bobby looked tired, his eyes bloodshot. “She can’t possibly be that much trouble.”

“She ain’t trouble, you idjit. She doesn’t do anything. She sits in her room all day.”

Dean closed the hood on the car. “Why don’t you do something with her?”

“Like what? What do teenage girls even like?”

“Well, you knew Sam, right?”

Bobby smacked Dean’s shoulder, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Alright. How about you take her shooting?” Dean asked.

“You think she’d like that?”

Dean could still feel his father’s phantom hands on his shoulders and when Sam was younger and times were harder, it was all that kept him going. All the fear, all the danger of holding that barrel had dissipated… became a security. Would Alex be able to form such a bond after having been so freshly severed from her previous life? Dean studied the sharp whiskers that stuck out from Bobby’s jaw line and the low-burning warmth in his eyes.

“It’s worth a shot.” 

-

By the time Dean sprawled himself across his old couch, shoulder tucked into the broken corner, he was exhausted. It was not the exhaustion of work or hours of stress-cleaning (which he had eased up on since Sam finally arrived earlier in the week) but the exhaustion only suffered at the expense of a woman. Not the sexy kind of exhaustion either but the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand and the joints of his fingers stiff and, hell, made Dean reconsider heavily if he really needed any women in his life to begin with.

“ _Tonight, I want to talk about acceptance. As usual, I have several analogies to begin the segment with, although I am skeptical as to whether or not any of you are even listening tonight. If not, I am in complete understanding. It is, after all, Christmas morning, and all the good boys and girls should be sleeping.”_

Dean gazed at the radio on the coffee table, eyes wide. He hadn’t imagined the man would be hosting that night, but checking was more habitual than anything else.

“ _But when it comes to acceptance, I think we all share that schoolyard experience, wherein we are ostracized. The sometimes, but not always, metaphorical ‘picked last to play’. I grew up with four older brother’s, so you can imagine how the games of hide n’ seek went. If not, I’ll give you an idea. I once sat behind a couch for two hours, convinced I would be the victor, only to discover the four had long since abandoned me to get Greek take-out. I myself rather enjoy Greek._ ”

Dean laughed.

 _“I could talk all night about the catastrophe that was my brood, but even now I find myself… lonely._ ”

Dean’s breath hitched.

_“Anyone will tell you that happiness should not be solely dependent on the presence of another person in your life. That true acceptance comes when you can first accept yourself for all of your short comings and all of the mistakes that you inevitably have made. You cannot say, ‘I’ll never be happy without-' because then everyone jumps on your ass.”_

Dean sat up so quickly the room spun. He watched the radio with bated breath, listening…

“ _I mean, there’s nothing wrong with allowing another person to personally deliver you happiness. Forgive me for being crude, but there isn’t a damn thing in this world more comforting then the voice of another person. You should know this, audience. It’s Christmas. Go drink spiked eggnog. Go kiss someone you should have kissed a long time ago. Christ, be somebody, and the acceptance will come.”_

It wasn’t calling hour, but Dean dialed anyway. The phone rang out, and he tried again, and again.

“ _Hello_?” The voice reverberated through the phone and from the radio. It echoed.

“Hi. It’s Dean,” Dean said, ignoring the dark house. Sam and his guest had long since turned in. “Why are you hosting? It’s Christmas.”

“ _Why are you up? It’s Christmas.”_

“I couldn’t sleep. What about you? Are you okay?”

 _“The yuletide tables have turned, have they? I’ll be okay, Dean. I suppose we all will be, eventually._ ” His voice was slow, like the drag of a rock across a sandy shore. “ _It’s not calling hour yet._ ”

“But you answered.”

“ _Yes. I had hoped that it was you._ ”

There was a feeling everyone talked about during the holiday season. Something like the tinsel that tickled your insides or a warm roasted duck tucked tightly in with sweet oranges. A feeling of torn wrapping paper and peppermint-stung lips, like ice crystals. Together, it thawed you. The holiday season wasn’t supposed to be a drunken rumble from five hundred miles away. It wasn’t supposed to be sleepless nights or the hiss of the radio tuning in or the way his family looked at him when he spoke about a nameless man. But it was.

“It’s not Jessica,” Dean said.

“ _Who is it?”_

“Some chick named _Ruby_.”

“ _Ruby?_ _You sound scorned.”_

“This chick is insane. Five foot six… angry eyebrows… a general expression of unpleasantness.”

“ _What happened to Jessica_?”

“I don’t know, man. Maybe she ate her.”

It was the sound of broken laughter, resounding from the phone to the radio and back. It was the way the man on the other end of the line listened, as if Dean was an ancient storyteller weaving a tale that never grew stagnant. Dean came to know that holiday feeling, and in the morning, he’d smile at Sam and Sam would hold his breath because he’d never seen his brother’s eyes quite so alive.

 

 


	10. Don’t let the world get you down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me guess, is it that I am being too overprotective of my baby brother? Or is it that I’m projecting some sort of bitterness at being single? Because, let me tell you, it’s not that. I’m good being single. Peachy, in fact.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the others. I think this story should finish off around 16 chapters. I have also started a fanfiction blog on tumblr where I post updates and ask the readers questions. Go follow it if you have the time! http://malicelikestowrite.tumblr.com/

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter ten  – Don’t let the world get you down

 

The tinsel, the string of off-white lights around the doorway, the fat, red nutcracker that sat on the dinner table… none of it had been Dean’s idea. In fact, since John Winchester walked away, Christmas had been no more than brown paper bags and plastic, sixteen inch trees. Even then, the tree was only there because Sam insisted. So this year, when Ruby held up two reusable satchels bursting with decorations at their finely woven edges, Dean didn’t like her.

She looked like she enjoyed tripping small children in the street.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam had said, and Dean had relented.

They weren’t traditional, the Winchester boys, so neither said anything about decorating after breakfast on Christmas morning.

“Maybe you should have done this beforehand?” Ruby said, her eyes tight with amusement and Dean did not look away and mock her words with a sour expression. Nope. “Yours is the only house on the street lacking in festivity.”

“My festivity is, more often than not, a glass of jager.”

“I wouldn’t touch the stuff,” Ruby said.

“Yeah, well, good for you.”

Sam watched Dean from where he wound the tinsel in a coil up the stair rails. It laid limp like a rag against the varnish. “Dean,” he said, tying the end.

“What?”

“Chill.”

Dean’s shoulders grew tight, drawing in on himself. “Yeah. Okay.” What could he say? That they didn’t decorate? Not really. Not since Mom. “You know I’m fine, right? It’s just my obligatory duty to give her shit. I mean, if she’s dating my baby sis…”

“Jerk,” Sam said, smacking the top of Dean’s head.

“Not fair! You’ve got like four inches on me!” Dean hissed.

Sam smirked. “So you admit it.”

“Oh my God… I’m not hearing this.”

-

Dean really didn’t care _that_ much about the decorations. All in all, he had been in an excellent mood come morning and it was painfully obvious that it was at the fault of the Midnight Matters man. Top that off with waffles and Dean’s holiday had been set. He would just ignore the useless decorations and the uncanny nutcracker. By dinner, the three had settled into a tight-lipped peace treaty, meaning Dean wasn’t unnecessarily cold toward Ruby, Ruby didn’t egg Dean on, and Sam didn’t strangle either of them. They had all agreed to have a civilized dinner like the adults they were, or in Sam’s case, the honorary adult as Dean kept calling him.

“So, you and that radio guy… you know, the one you cry to every night?”Ruby asked, her mouth full of turkey. Maybe Dean should have poisoned it.

“ _Ruby_ ,” Sam groaned, covering his eyes.

“What’s that about?” she asked. Sam mouthed apologies at his brother while Ruby waited patiently, looking like the cat that got the cream. “I mean, it sure as hell isn’t platonic.”

The mashed potatoes on Dean’s fork became entirely unappealing. “Do you even hear yourself?” he asked. “It’s public radio. Nothing _un_ platonic about it.”

“Yeah, um… unlike you,” she aimed the tip of her knife at him. “I actually _listen_ to the show, so I like to think I have a vague idea of what’s going on.”

“Sam!” Dean cried out, throwing him an accusatory scowl. Sam’s hands flew up in defense.

“Dude, it’s totally not my fault.”

“It was totally his fault,” Ruby corrected, still holding her knife. “So tell me… you and him… do you like, talk dirty when the music’s playing?”

“ _Ruby_ ,” Sam groaned again. “I do not need that visual.”

Dean quirked his head at Sam. “Absolutely,” he said.

“Dean!”

“Do you remember when he played Michael Buble the other night?” he asked Ruby, not waiting for her to answer before he stood up and dumped his leftovers in the trash. “I do.”

The way Sam gagged as Dean left the room was supposed to be funny, but it left a knot in the back of his throat. He tipped over the nutcracker on his way out.

-

“Okay, spill,” Sam said, sitting on the corner of his brother’s bed. Dean had a large pair of headphones secured over his ears. “What was that about?”

“I don’t like her. I don’t get why she’s here. She’s my age, Sam.” Sam’s eyebrows rose and he crossed his arms. “Don’t give me that look, I know I say a lot of crap about scoring and all, but this is different.” He pulled the headphones off and settled them at his neck, sitting up. “I mean, I don’t believe in hitting women but if she fucks with you…”

“I wasn’t talking about Ruby, Dean.”

“Oh.” And ‘oh’ was right. Dean could ramble to his brother about his disapproval in his choice of women all night, but… “It was just a joke.”

“Then why’d you storm off? Seems like a lot of theatrics for ‘just a joke’.”

“Well, I’m a dramatic guy.”

They stared at each other in a bristling silence, a game of chicken where the loser was the first to spout out something that could be deemed a _feeling_. It’s how things used to be, before Midnight Matters, when Dean was still one hundred percent against anything that even remotely resembled emotion. It was a darker time, but damn was it an easier one. Even now Dean wanted nothing more than to ask his brother what he had been asking himself in the back of his mind for weeks now.

_How much can a voice really come to mean?_

“Well, if you want to talk about it,” Sam said, unsure of what to do with his hands. He eventually set one on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m here. Even when I’m not, you can always call me. You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Sam withdrew his touch, apparently as shocked at Dean’s receptiveness as Dean was. “Um, okay. What… what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Aw, Sammy. Asking me on a date? How sweet.”

Sam had him in a chokehold in two seconds flat and the last several months of separation evaporated.

“I was _going_ to say that a new diner opened a few miles from here and I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

“Really?”

“Yes, mainly about their variety of homemade pies.”

Dean’s mouth salivated and the swelling of his belly from the extravagant dinner conveniently disappeared.

“If you agree to try to get along with Ruby, we can go. My treat.”

Dean clutched at his chest as if the very thought brought him wracks of physical pain, but he would try.

For the pie.

-

“ _It was amazing,”_ Dean said, _“The best pie I’ve had since my mother passed. Have I ever told you how much I love pie?”_

“I believe you have failed to mention it,” Castiel said. He had never heard Dean mention his mother without his tone wavering. Clearly, the man was in a pleasant mood. It’d been a while since he sounded so chipper.

_“I don’t know how. Everyone who knows me knows I’d maim a man for pie._ ” Castiel knew Dean hadn’t meant anything by it, but the suggestion that Castiel didn’t really know him- stung. “ _This place is great. It’s called Lafitte’s and I’m pretty sure the owner is the one who does all the baking_.”

“Did you meet him?”

“ _Yeah. His name is Benny. He’s got the whole Cajun hospitality thing going on. Young, too, for having his own place, you know?_ ”

Castiel leaned back in his chair, content to listen to Dean ramble.

“ _I was skeptical at first, especially getting rhubarb because it takes a special kind of person to make it just right._ ” Castiel’s insides clenched. _“But it was awesome. When I mentioned it was my favorite, Benny cut me an extra large slice. I gotta say, they got my future business._ ”

“He sounds charming.”

“ _He kind of is_.”

The clench in his stomach became tighter, a more unforgiving twist. Castiel could imagine the two men leaning over a counter, smiling and laughing. Face to face. The leather of his armrests creaked beneath the press of his nails. A pot of fresh coffee would sit beside them, ready to refill a glass. The smell would permeate the air, blanket the stench of the other patrons slathered in sweat and perfume. In its aromatic encasement, one might refer to the moment as tender. Romantic even.

“I hate to do this, but something has come up and Midnight Matters will be coming to an early close tonight,” Castiel croaked, trying to take deep breaths.

“ _Is everything okay?”_

“Of course. Just something that needs my immediate attention. Goodnight, listeners… Dean.”

He didn’t _flick_ the _‘on air’_ sign off, so much as _physically abuse_ it. When the studio was left washed in darkness, Castiel locked the door.

-

By the time Castiel established that he _wasn’t_ going to vomit in the sink, he let himself drop onto the couch. The light of his answering machine flickered.

_“Hey Cassie, sorry things got a bit crazy Christmas Eve. We probably shouldn’t have let you have that fourth… or fifth… sixth… Okay, we should have cut you off pretty early is all. Sorry I keep missing your show, but working with Naomi is going to be a real challenge. She’s the woman who wants to-_ ” The message cut off. Castiel let out a heavy breath.

The knowledge of what he’d just done struck him yet again, and it wasn’t until he was halfway home that it occurred to him that he was feeling nothing more than schoolyard _jealousy_. Hence, when the guilt of having walked out took root, it resulted in him leaning over the sink to begin with.  

Dean knew people, would meet many more people in his life. Castiel had neither reason nor right to feel anything beyond companionship for the man.

Still, he wasn’t so sure he liked this _Benny_.

-

“There was a shooting star,” Dean said, still looking out from behind his curtain. “Or maybe it was a firework. I’m not really sure.”

“ _It may be beneficial to make a wish, just in case._ ”

Outside, Dean could see Sam and Ruby, kneeling down to stick their hands in the snow. They looked like children. The flurries still scattered around them from the fresh downfall. When Dean was little, he’d wake Sam up, bundle him in sweaters as quietly as he could without waking John, then sneak out to play in the 3AM blanket of snow. Time didn’t really change anything, just set it askew.

“I already did.” He’d wished that Sam would never forget how to play in the snow. “It’s selfish and materialistic.”

_“Well, make sure you keep it to yourself_.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Dean asked. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

“ _I’m not sure if we’ve ever formally discussed how this show works, but-”_

“I’m not so sure about Ruby,” Dean said, cutting the man off. “There are all these little things about her that just make my skin itch.”

“ _Such as?_ ”

“Well, she curls her hair for one. Sam thinks it’s natural but I caught her curling it in the bathroom at four in the morning. That’s another thing, she wakes up at _four in the morning_.” The man laughed and Dean’s heart skipped. “And then she does yoga. Her and Sam, they do yoga _together.”_

_“You are being a bit ridiculous_.”

“Come on, you gotta side with me here. Sam won’t listen to me but he still loves your show apparently, so he’ll listen to you. He likes you,” Dean pleaded. “You just gotta say, _stay away from women named Ruby_. She thinks she’s too good for plastic bags.”

“ _Cloth bags are incredibly economical,”_ the man said.

“Not you, too!”

_“I think your mistrust lies in more than her shopping preferences_.”

When Sam swooped down to plant a kiss on Ruby’s lips, Dean grimaced and drew the curtain.

“You’re right. I may not be a sleeper, but I’m a big eater and I don’t appreciate losing my appetite whenever they’re around.”

_“You know what I mean._ ”

“Let me guess, is it that I am being too overprotective of my baby brother? Or is it that I’m projecting some sort of bitterness at being single? Because, let me tell you, it’s not that. I’m good being single. Peachy, in fact.”

_“It sounds like you know exactly what I mean_.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.”

A loud clatter rang out from the window, sending a shiver up Dean’s spine. He whipped the curtain open to see a splatter of snow on the glass, falling away in chunks. Below, Sam was covering his face and Ruby was standing with her feet apart, both arms raised, throwing Dean two middle fingers.

“That… She…”

“ _Dean?_ ”

“I gotta go,” Dean said, grabbing a knit cap. “This is war. Wait for my return.”

“ _As I do every night, Dean_.”

Dean let out a weak breath. The heat from his winter layers lit him up, his insides embers.

-

Dean couldn’t blame the bed anymore. The dreams had been frequent, vague, and blistering hot. He woke up completely hard and equally ashamed, but touched himself anyway. That was when it had been dreams. Dean’s arousal was inevitable, as he was human, but he knew even as he fished his lube out from the second drawer of the nightstand who exactly he was thinking about.

The shame did not hinder his enthusiasm as he worked himself up. He was single and he had needs. He would say that there were pieces a voice on the radio couldn’t fill, but Dean hadn’t found them yet. He got off just fine thinking of how the voice would feel on his neck, his side, his thighs. Like chocolate and rust.

The dreams he could excuse away. The mind had a way of utilizing the elements of life in innovative ways, but it also had a stroke of honesty. After he came, Dean stared at the ceiling, his hand tacky with semen, and made a decision.

-

“I agreed to go on a double date with Sam and Ruby,” Dean said.  

“ _Oh?”_

He didn’t know why he said it, except that the man had asked about Dean’s imaginary love life several times before. “Yeah. I’m going with some woman they met at a yoga class. Sam thinks her and I would get on well, but he was pretty vague about the whole thing. I think he just wants me out of the house. Also, they’re leaving in a week so they wanted to go out together more.”

“ _I do agree with him there. It’ll be good for you spend time with new people._ ”

Dean grimaced. Somewhere inside he had been hoping that the man would object loudly to the idea, but thinking back on it, the notion was ridiculous. Besides, he’d only agreed to it because even he knew he was becoming too focused on his Midnight Matters sessions, or more so, the man behind them. The man whose name he _still didn’t know_.

“Well, hopefully I won’t be a disaster.”

“ _Don’t be ridiculous. She’d be lucky to have you._ ”

Dean hung up feeling worse than when he called.

-

Dean wasn’t a complete asshole. Yes, he had refused to cater to the whims of the people who (creepily) obtained his address and wrote to him by not reading any of their letters, but he could not bring himself to throw the piles away. He figured the emotional glitch that kept him from doing so would eventually pass and he would be able to dispose of them with no problem. Too bad Sam found them first.

“Um, Dude?” he said, an eyebrow raised. In his hand he held a laundry basket full of letters. Yeah, Dean probably shouldn’t have put them in a laundry basket, or in the laundry room, for that matter.  “Are these them? The letters?”

“No,” Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes. Dean wasn’t sure how he hadn’t passed out yet with how many times he did that.

Sam dropped the hamper onto a chair, grabbing handfuls of envelopes and spreading them across the kitchen table.

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked, walking in to rifle through the fridge.

“He’s not doing anything,” Dean said, panicked. Sam began reading return addresses.

“These are literally from everywhere,” he said, tearing one open.

“You can’t read them! If you read them, they win!” Dean snapped, trying to dump the letters back into the basket. Hell, he was ready to throw them out then and there.

“No,” Sam said. “If _you_ read them, they win.” He opened the first card and a twenty dollar bill fell out. The three all stared at it. Sam cleared his throat.

“Dear Lawrence, Kansas. I’m no good with words, so take this twenty and pick yourself up a hot meal. Stay safe. Sacramento.”

After a beat of silence, Dean and Ruby both started tearing open envelopes.

“You guys are so cheap!” Sam accused, taking the discarded letters from the two as they tossed them aside. He scanned each one silently. By the time the last envelope was gored open, Dean had accumulated two hundred dollars.

“It’s amazing,” he said. “People sending money to a stranger because they don’t know how to be sympathetic.”

“Some of them are very sympathetic,” Sam said, gesturing to a pile of cards that hadn’t contained anything more than ravings.

Ruby tore open the last envelope.

“Not even a card,” she said, plucking out a folded sheet of paper. “Cheapskate.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes as Sam plucked the letter away from her.

“You’re gonna split that, right?” Ruby asked.

“Hell no. The cards say Dean, not Dean and company.”

“Bitch, you wouldn’t even know about the money if it wasn’t for us,” Ruby snapped.

“Dean,” Sam said.

“If it wasn’t for _Sam_. _You_ were just drinking out of the milk carton. Again.”

“ _Dean_.”

He and Ruby both looked to Sam, he had reclined back and held the paper up. “You should read this one.” He sounded serious.

Dean accepted the offering. Ruby was right. It was just a sheet of notebook paper that had been folded over several times. The edges were crumpled from heavy fingers. Dean placed his hands over their imprints, the way the writer must have. Their hands were about the same size. It was a mess. The handwriting was the kind of cursive that was beautiful to look at but was nearly impossible to read and Dean was sure that there were coffee stains at the top corner.

He had to strain to read it.

_Dear Lawrence, Kansas_

_You have a strength about you. I know you think that you’ve become a sort of spectacle, but I can assure you that is not the case. We admire you, Dean. I can only imagine how it must be to wake up one day in a spotlight you never asked for. People are going to say things about you, and not always good. They’re going to say that there is something wrong with you or that there is something wrong with the rest of the world for caring so much about a virtual stranger. In these trying times, you must remember that those who matter are not those saying such things, but those who would defend you of them. It’s okay to care about something or someone, but mainly, it’s okay to care about yourself. Don’t let the world get you down. You are a beacon in this endless midnight. You shine on all of us._

“C. N.” Dean said, setting the letter on the table. It rested like a fallen leaf, weary from its travel.

“That’s what it says on the envelope, too,” Sam said, reading it. “Seattle, Washington.”

Dean looked at the piles of envelopes and stacks of cards that Sam had organized by state and the wad of cash at the center of the table. He grabbed it.

“Hey!” Ruby whined. “Not cool.”

“There are people that need it more than you,” Dean said, grabbing his coat.

“Like who, you?”

Dean shook his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of wayward adolescents, or a particular wayward adolescent.”

Dean folded up the letter and put it in his pocket before leaving. He recalled something about Alex Annie Alexis Ann arriving with nothing but a backpack of clothes.

Before he could climb into his Impala, a neighbor that jogged by every day made his usual round. Dean waved enthusiastically at the stranger.

“Happy New Year!” he called out. The man stopped, tilted his head, and waved back.

The note hung heavy in Dean’s pocket, but it was the good kind of weight. The kind that kept you grounded when you feared you might float away.


	11. Connections are not one-way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel had always had a quarrel with authority. One of the reasons he enjoyed having his own show was because how he chose to run it came without consequence from the Hound station. Bela however, proved to be the wrong fish to have wrangled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unreasonably overdue and for that, I am profoundly sorry! I hope this satisfies until I can write the next one!
> 
> Also, now you can keep tabs on me through my tumblr, http://malicelikestowrite.tumblr.com/

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter eleven  – Connections are not one-way

 

Lisa Braden was beautiful. With dark brown hair and tawny skin, she looked like she had practically stepped out of a women’s magazine or the front of a Special K cereal box. When Dean shook her hand, her grip was soft, fingers thin with tapered ends. They sat across from each other, Sam beside Dean and Ruby by Lisa. They were back at Lafitte’s, surrounded by crisp pie crusts and sizzling hamburgers. Benny had waved when the door’s bell chimed overhead.

The scene was picturesque, but Dean could not ignore the shroud of discomfort that draped over him.

“What are you having?” Lisa asked, watching him with a cautious smile.

“Pie,” he said, clearing his throat and taking another swig of water.

“No lunch?”

“Maybe a burger, then.”

Sam and Ruby kept glancing toward each other, and then toward Dean. He was ready to snap at them.

It was Benny who arrived at the table with a notepad in hand, for which Dean was infinitely grateful.

“Hey, Benny. How’s business?” he asked, pointedly not looking at Lisa. Her stare was powerful. In fact, her general posture was that of the kind of woman he might have taken to bed before. As it was, he just wanted to get through the hour.

“Well, Brother, we have been pretty packed out, but now that the holidays are over, things have simmered down,” Benny said, taking the time to smile at each of them. “Have you decided on your order?”

“Chicken club, please,” Ruby said, handing over her menu.

“Tuna salad,” Sam said.

“Chicken salad,” Lisa added. They all looked to Dean again.

“Well, since apparently I’m the only on here who wants heart disease, I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Dean said, pulling a sour face. Benny laughed and finished writing.

“Any rhubarb today?”

“Yes. Please.” Dean waved as Benny walked off, partially to be polite and partially sarcastic, as Benny was saving him from actually participating in the little play-date his brother had insisted on. “Nice guy, Benny,” Dean said.

Lisa nodded slowly. “He seems so.”

Dean would have given Sam a serious bitchface right about then, but it appeared that Ruby beat him too it. Her eyebrows were high on her forehead and she looked about ready to slap the stupid right off of him. At least Dean knew the whole thing was entirely Sam’s idea.

“So… what do you do?” Lisa asked, fiddling with her napkin.

“I’m a mechanic.” Yeah, it didn’t sound so impressive when he said it like that. Actually, it wasn’t very impressive.

“Ah.”

Dean was going to kill Sam.

\-   

Ruby had it up to her neck with everyone by the time the check came around. The last forty-five minutes had consisted of Dean and Lisa exchanging small talk back and forth and back and forth and then Sam would comment in a way that he assumed was feeding the conversation, but only really served to remind everybody that this was a blind date, and admittedly, a terrible one.

“Thank God that’s over,” Ruby said, buckling herself into the driver seat of her car. “As bright as you are, you sure can be an idiot.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“This whole double-date business? Terrible idea.” Ruby backed out of the parking lot with all the grace of three-legged capybara. “I told you, didn’t I? What did I tell you?”

“Ruby…”

“What did I tell you?”

Sam sighed and frowned. “That Dean didn’t need a matchmaker.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re killing me, Ruby.”

The look she gave him promised that soon she would, in fact, kill him.

“Because he and the Midnight Matter’s guy are crazy about each other.”

“That’s right,” Ruby said, smug. “They’re crazy about each other. That just begs one question.”

“What?”

They came to a jagged stop at a red light and Ruby leaned one elbow on the wheel, turning to face him. “What are we going to do about it?”

-

When Sam and Ruby left, the house returned to its hollow, boorish space. Trash littered the floor by the spot on the table Dean always sat at and the sound of 80’s rock drifted from the crinkled cassette tapes his mother left him. With the window above the sink cracked just a sliver, the angry cold of January stuck its fingernails in and Dean couldn’t get warm, nor find just where the leak came from.

Sam would have found it with ease.

To combat the cold, the oven was cranked up and left open. Dean sat by it with his jacket zipped tight and the phone pressed into his ear.

“Heating’s out. Nothing I can’t fix, but I gotta pick up the part tomorrow.”

“ _Will you be alright for the night_?”

“It’s only a few more hours,” Dean said, nursing at a cup of coffee. “I’ve gone longer without it. When it was just Sam and me and our dad was in Santa Barbara with a bunch of hookers for Christmas. Sometimes he just wouldn’t even pay it.”

The tips of his fingers throbbed as he crept them closer and closer to the cave of radiating heat. Dean didn’t know if the man thought he was joking.

“Sam and Ruby are gone... went back to cozyville where they all drink out of mason jars and pick their teeth with kale or some shit. I gotta admit, their timing was almost suspicious.”

“ _I highly doubt that the two of them sabotaged your heating unit._ ”

“Not Sam, but Ruby… that I’d believe. But hey, it could be worse. It could be raining.”

“ _But I thought it was snowing?_ ”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “It’s a quote. From Young Frankenstein.”

“ _I am afraid I have not seen it._ ”

“Not a Sci-Fi buff, then?”

_“I am afraid not.”_

“What sort of movies do you watch?” Dean asked. Dean himself had a very broad knowledge of film. From the late-night marathons of Star Trek to watching Indiana Jones with Sam, he’d seen it all. They’d reenact the more adventurous scenes, careening through a topple of couch cushions. Maybe Dean shouldn’t have called his brother Short Round so often because Sam presently took extreme delight in returning the nickname at a staggering height of 6’4.

“ _I enjoy many movies of various genres,_ ” the man said, wandering in thought. “ _But it is difficult to say I prefer a particular type.”_

Dean didn’t care what types they were. He wanted to know every name. Midnight Matters, although housing many similar discussions, was truly no place for such an exchange. Dean wanted the man to pick the title off the shelf- to hold it up and _convince_ him that it was a work worth celebrating. That was how such a conversation should have gone, not filtered through a satellite signal with no doubt countless curious ears tuning in.

“I wish I knew you,” Dean said, clutching at the oven handle until his knuckles pulsed.

A slight pause.

“ _You do know me, Dean”_

“Really knew you. More than just a voice, you know?” Couldn’t the man feel it as well? The draw that kept Dean calling each sleepless night. The conversations that spread out like ancient branches – comfortable, interwoven, beautiful. Midnight Matters still received numerous other callers, but Dean listened and began to think that what they had was different. Connections are not one-way.

 _“Well, Dean, we could always meet at the top of the empire state building on Valentine’s day,”_ the man said, mirthful.

Dean’s heart clenched in hope at the prospect and in pain at the acceptance that he was being teased. “That’s strangely specific.”

“ _Have you ever seen An Affair to Remember?”_

“Sounds like a chick-flick. Gross. Those I’m not enthusiastic about.” Maybe he had seen one or two or four or five, but some things even the Midnight Matters man did not need to know. Dean’s insides curled up at the deep rumble of the man’s laugh.

“ _Be careful. Jo could be listening in._ ”

-

It always rains in Seattle. In fact, that was one of the running jokes. Castiel found himself staring at the torrents from the hood of his apartment complex door, his open umbrella limp at his side. He watched the water slam into the ground, ebbing into each fractured crevice. He thought of Dean.

The desire to look over his shoulder and laugh and say, _look at that. It_ is _raining,_ took over. But the face he looked for would not be there. He didn’t even know what the face looked like.

Crowley’s file flashed through his mind. The name printed on it like a promise… a treasure chest. It took far too much willpower for Castiel to step out into the rain, umbrella up. Despite it and the trench coat that hung heavy on his shoulders, Castiel was cold. His joints ached along with his calves in a way nothing but a boiling bath could alleviate. The day had only just begun.

-

It was impossible to shrug off the whispers of water that dampened Castiel’s sleeves as he stepped into the coffee shop. Already he could see Anna and her glorious red hair woven loosely in an intricate braid. It hung over her shoulder like a gentle caress but she had always been beautiful. At her table were two coffees and Castiel was grateful.  

“An Affair to Remember? Really, Castiel?” Anna said, picking at the corner of her napkin and refusing to meet his eye. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“About what?” Castiel asked, testing with his lips the temperature of his coffee. It was still boiling.

“You being in love with Dean Winchester.”

Castiel withdrew his hand from his cup. Finally Anna looked at him but he wished she’d look away again. He wanted nothing to do with the way her cheeks sagged heavy with pity. “You have quite the imagination,” he said.

“No, I actually don’t. I just have ears. And I may not catch your show every night, but the ones I do seem to hear are all very convincing.” Anna was not one to snap, and although her tone was sharp, it was neither accusatory nor ugly. “So are you going to admit it, or go on day to day in a state of denial?”

“Denial is fine by me,” Castiel said, standing and taking his coffee with him. “Keeping on. Making absolutely no currents… yes, that sounds perfect.”

“So you’re running away,” Anna said.

“Only from this conversation.” Castiel tightened the coat around himself and tried to breathe slowly. Anything to regulate his staccato heart. It already wasn’t a very good day, but even the chime of the bell above the door managed to startle him. He looked back to see Anna staring, concerned, before he took off into the downpour yet again.

-

“ _If I had to describe Dean, the last words I woulda chosen are touchy-feely or sentimental, and yet somehow you managed to get him to open up. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t hear it myself.”_

“You must be Bobby,” Castiel said, his eyes wide with awe. The man on the other line had a voice like southern tarmac and it somehow suited the image he had always had when Dean spoke of him.

“ _And how do you reckon’ that?”_

“Dean doesn’t speak often of male figures in his life,” Castiel said. “And the fact that you’re bothering to call, from what I can gather, means that you can’t be his father.” Castiel feared he’d overstepped but the man on the line let out a strangled laugh.

“ _Well damn, aren’t you the detective.”_

“No, sir. Just perceptive.”

“ _Okay Mr. Perceptive, I was just calling to do the routine._ ”

“Routine?”

“ _Since Dean won’t be listening in tonight, I thought it’d be the perfect chance for us to talk_.”

Castiel tried to fight away the heat that burned at his cheeks. “He won’t?”

“ _No. he’s asleep on my couch. Out like a light.”_

What did he look like while sleeping there? Was his expression soft or torn? His eyelashes thin or heavy as his eyes rested? Was his skin light or dark or creamy or rough to the touch? Castiel could see his shapeless form, shifting endlessly in its design. He sighed.

“ _All tuckered out. Took Alex shooting. Well, we did, but she gets on better with him than me._ ”

“Alex will no doubt grow fond of you. It is normal for a child, after being uprooted, to feel resentful towards authority figures. Think of Dean as the cool uncle.”

“ _I remember when_ I _was the cool uncle_ ,” Bobby grumbled. “ _But this isn’t about me. It’s about Dean.”_

“So I gathered.”

“ _If you think you can exploit him for ratings or whatever, which I honestly think you wouldn’t, but if you did… well, don’t._ ”

Panic gripped at Castiel for a moment before his shoulders relaxed and his eyebrows drew together. “I take it you have read Bela Talbot’s article.”

“ _Seen her show. Been on the Forum. Every time she so much as mentions Lawrence, Kansas, Jody practically shoves me into it. She ain’t Miss Talbot’s biggest fan.”_

“I’d honestly like to know who is,” Castiel said.

_“Can you say that on public radio?”_

“Not without repercussions, Bobby.”

The both of them laughed.

-

“You really fuckin’ did it, Castiel,” Balthazar said, storming through the lounge doors. “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone? No, you had to acknowledge it. On air. You really fuckin’ did it.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel garbled through a large mouthful of bagel, spewing up two or three crumbs.

“Bela Talbot is requesting a live interview.”

Castiel stared at him.

“With you.”

“What?” he asked, having finally choked down his bagel.

“You bloody heard me. She says, and I quote, it’s time for the ‘midnight matter’ to be absolved. _Absolved_! She’s going to tear you apart.”

Castiel had always had a quarrel with authority. One of the reasons he enjoyed having his own show was because how he chose to run it came without consequence from the Hound station. Bela however, proved to be the wrong fish to have wrangled.

“So I refuse,” Castiel said, shrugging his shoulders.

“You can’t. It’s a public request, which means that after your little comment last night you have no choice other than to accept. You set yourself up for invite.” It had been so long since Balthazar had truly scolded him that Castiel had forgotten what the man looked like with his arms crossed over his sharp, protruding body and his expression wrinkled like an old grape.

“My lack of identity is one of the foundations of Midnight Matters. She cannot take away my anonymity.”

“We will figure something out, Cassie. Just, think before you speak next time. I beg you.”

“I shall attempt to uphold a passive relationship with her.”

The look Balthazar gave him indicated no trust whatsoever. “You better. If you start getting crabby with her live then she will be a permanent enemy and a persistent problem.”

“Keep it civilized. Got it.”

That… Castiel could do.

-

Bobby’s house was still. Jody had arranged the doilies just right on the table and warm quilts slung lazily over the couches, waiting to be wrapped around someone. It was the calm before the storm.

“I can’t believe this bullshit,” Dean snapped, barreling through the front door. Bobby and Jody followed close behind.

“Excuse me, young man?” Jody said, her eyebrows raised and her hands flying to settle at her hips. Dean rounded on her.

“You didn’t think to mention that I was a _topic of discussion_ on national television? That _he_ was a topic of discussion? Weeks ago?”

“And you wonder why. You’re acting like a child, Dean,” Bobby said, crossing past him to turn on the TV. “Newsflash – you’ve been on public radio.”

“Oh what, at 2AM when only losers like me listen? You’re talking about Tessa.” Dean wove his hands around. “Even I know who Tessa is and I don’t have cable.”

“Calm down,” Jody said.

“I am calm!” Dean froze as the two turned to the TV. On it a dark-haired woman sat while the name _Tessa_ flew by in a cursive script. “But I’m not prepared for this.”

“I know, boy,” Bobby said. They each sunk down into the couch. “Who knows… maybe they won’t talk about you.”

Dean tried to ignore the look Jody shot Bobby. The next woman to appear on screen had Dean sitting up straight.

“I know her!” he shouted, finger pointing in accusation. “I helped her get something off the top shelf in a grocery store.” Bobby and Jody both silenced him just as Tessa began to speak.

“ _I am sure you all remember Bela Talbot. She was with us a few weeks ago and I must say, the audience is thrilled to have you back_.” To accentuate Tessa’s point, a round of applause rang out that made Dean nauseous. “ _And a new guest who wishes to remain both name and faceless, I introduce a voice nearly a fifth of America has become well acquainted with, the man behind Midnight Matters.”_ Behind her a screen dropped down with a large _MM-Hound_ printed across it.

“ _Thank you, Tessa_.” The voice radiating from the television was so surreal that Dean dug his nails into the couch cushion, trying to keep from toppling over.

“ _I see you continue to insist on hiding behind the Hound,_ ” Bela said, turning and smiling at the camera. They cut to a close-up.

“ _Bela, I presume_.” The sheer dryness had Dean smiling.

“That complete dork,” Dean said. Bobby and Jody shushed him again.

“ _I would greet you politely by name as well but no one seems willing to share it._ ”

“ _I find that my name serves no purpose to my show_.”

“ _Yes, and hiding it serves a great purpose to yourself,_ ” Bela said. Dean remembered how she looked in the supermarket. Like a viper holding a box of flax seed.

The man laughed and Dean tried to hide the heat it brought to his face.

“ _Even had I not been fortunate enough to catch your previous episode, I get the feeling that you aren’t so fond of me.”_

_“Mostly I’m concerned with the current happenings of your… show.”_

“I’m gonna kill her-“

“Shut it, Idjit.”

 _“So you are aware of my previous discussion._ ”

“ _Correct.”_

 _“Then you’re aware that you are exploiting the emotional disruptions of others for the mere sake of your ratings?”_ she asked.

“That stupid bi-“

Jody slapped her hand across the back of Dean’s head. Begrudgingly, and not without crossing his arms, he stayed silent.

“ _Namely, a Mr. Dean Winchester of Lawrence, Kansas._ ”

The camera cut to the audience, who seemed to collectively hold their breath.

“ _Aren’t you, yourself, bringing him farther into the spotlight by pursuing these accusations on live television?_ ” the man asked.

 _“I like to believe that I am enlightening them. I do not shroud my opinion in darkness when the masses are sleeping,”_ Bela said. _“I am merely attempting to show the audience that they should be ashamed of themselves for allowing you to make Mr. Winchester, a man with real problems, into a spectacle.”_

 _“The calling hour isn’t about making a spectacle for the other listeners,”_ the man said. _“When someone calls, it becomes about them. The world exists only through their words, not the response of other listeners. During the calling hour, and this has been the same for everyone, not just Dean… but during the calling hour, the focus of the show is narrowed. The person I speak to is the priority. Sometimes they come to me asking questions about life that I don’t know the answer to, but sometimes they just want to talk, and that’s okay. You keep saying that Dean is codependent, but he’s not. He gets up in the morning, goes to work, pays his bills, and then at night, when he can’t sleep, he confides in a friend.  I won’t go so far as to say that I know you, Miss Talbot, but I ask of you a favor. Please do not try to enforce unwarranted issues on my listeners. They have enough to deal with without you tipping the scale.”_

The camera shot to Tessa, whose expression was about as slack-jawed as Dean’s himself.

 _“Is that how you see it?”_ Bela asked, unwavering.

 _“All I see is you targeting an innocent audience with crippling strikes against their character. Do you often prey on the weak?”_ the man asked.

_“You consider yourself weak?”_

_“You and I are not even of the same ecosystem.”_

The audience let out many murmurs and finally, Bela’s steeled expression began to crumble.

 _“I didn’t come to know a man who was problematic or damaged.”_ the man said. _“I met a man who was sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas. That man’s name is Dean and if you do not understand his value, then you have not been paying attention. Dean is a beacon that shines on all of us.”_

The audience cheered again, but far louder and with the occasional holler. A particular few stood out, waving and thrashing their arms. They must have been frequent listeners. A redhead up front with a Star Wars t-shirt shot up double middle fingers, presumably at Bela, and was censored.

While Jody and Bobby whistled, Dean scrunched his face up and dug through his pocket. From his wallet he pulled out a wrinkled and well-read sheet of paper. Scanning over it, his breath hitched.

_You are a beacon in this endless midnight. You shine on all of us._

Dean set the note in his lap. Gazing at the large, uppercase letters on the screen that shielded the man’s voice, he let out a shaky laugh.

“Shit,” he said.

“ _Language”_ Jody scolded.

 


	12. Change is necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am his father and I did what I could. Sam knows that,” John said, slamming his fist on the coffee table. It groaned.  
> “Sam had no father,” Dean snapped. “He had me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you following me on my tumblr http://malicelikestowrite.tumblr.com/ drop by and say hi! 
> 
> I said before that this story will have 16 chapters, but I have changed that number to 17. The last chapter will act both as the end and an epilogue, so it's not over until the end of chapter 17, but it also explores Dean and Cas' future. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter twelve  – Change is necessary

 

Dean had a lot to think about. The letter from C.N. weighed heavy in the fold of his wallet and the echo of four missed calls from his father still rang in his ears. The windshield wipers did little to scrape away at the slush that gathered together at its borders. With each slow, jerking motion, they groaned and whimpered. He’d have to take a look at them if he ever found the time.

As it neared 2AM, Dean set his phone to silent and pulled over to the side of the road. Before him, hazard lights flickered through the flurry of grey and ice. Fetching an umbrella, he stepped out into the open and flipped his collar up to shield his early morning stubble.

“That was quick,” shouted Lisa from the behind the barely open window.

“Yeah, well, I can’t just leave a lovely lady waiting.” Dean examined her car as he approached it. “Besides, I was already up.” He had yelled over the spatter of rain on the hood.

Lisa cracked open her door and slipped out, Dean holding the umbrella over her. The water drenched his hair and rolled off of his shoulders. She looked at him with her lip between her teeth and brows furrowed.

“You’re getting wet,” she said. Dean shrugged.

With Lisa tucked into the passenger side, Dean retrieved the towels he’d brought with him to line his seat, which he did carefully. When the door closed, it sealed off the torrential sound. The silence in the Impala was only interrupted by Lisa’s weak laughter.

“Your hair is- and your jacket…”

“Is that any way to talk to me after I rescued you? I’m a regular knight in shining armor,” Dean said, grimacing at the squelch of his shoes on the carpeting. He’d have to clean that as well.

“Muddy armor, actually.”

Dean turned to rebut the insult but he kept quiet when he saw her smiling. Not in the polite way she had when sitting across from him at Lafitte’s, but with her teeth showing and her eyes crinkled. In fact, Dean promptly shut up.

When Sam had called him to say that Lisa had experienced the unfortunate, late-night breakdown, Dean had actually been brushing his teeth. It wasn’t that he was preparing for sleep or that he had eaten anything particularly gross earlier in the evening, but because Bobby had taught him to always brush his teeth before talking to someone important. The advice stuck with him, and although he’d never admit it to anyone in his entire life, lately, Dean had taken to brushing before calling C.N. He didn’t realize when the habit had started, but once he recognized it for what it was, Dean hid his toothbrush in the bottom drawer and ignored it for three days – relying only on Listerine. It was gross, he regretted it, and finally accepted his fate as being inclined to something so pathetic as treating a phone call as a – date. Either way, he threw on his jacket and ventured out into the night without hesitation.

“I’ll send a tow-truck for your car tomorrow,” Dean said.

“That’d be great. I honestly don’t know how I get myself into these situations.” Lisa rested her head on the window and sighed. Although the umbrella kept her dry for the most part, the cuffs of her sleeve were stained dark, her hands folded neatly on her lap. She looked tired, and it was no wonder.

“It’s pretty late,” Dean said. He gave her a casual glance. “Date night?”

Lisa laughed. “Yes, actually. I find that in my rather short and unproductive quest for romance, dating is a necessary evil.”

“Was our date that bad?”

“Not at all. You just didn’t enjoy it.”

Dean tried to focus on the road, but the lack of traffic left him available to distraction.“What makes you think I didn’t enjoy it?” he asked, scowling. He hadn’t, but he certainly tried to make it appear as if he had.

“Please,” Lisa said. “You were miles away.”

With an endless stretch of road ahead and Lisa parked at his side, Dean’s thoughts had nowhere to retreat. He blamed Sam still, and felt terrible that his reluctance along with his disinterest in Lisa had been so apparent.

“If it makes you feel any better, this one went pretty sour too,” Lisa said, and laughed again.

Dean laughed with her, but it was more forced. Trying to seem unperturbed, he switched on the radio.

_“I think we forget that all people feel the same general things,_ ” C.N. said. Dean shot Lisa another nervous look. She stared forward. _“We want what we want and sometimes, what we are given just does not satisfy the need. A woman goes into work each day, and although her benefits may be great and her pay exceptional, when she goes home at night she laments over some forgotten childhood dream. This is normal. It is so easy for what we want to pass us by that we are more likely to recognize it from the back rather than when it is right in front of us. Think clearly- what do you want? What measures would you take to get it? And most importantly, would you recognize it standing face-to-face with it?”_

-

By the time they reached her front door, Dean asked himself what the hell he was doing. With his umbrella perched over them, Lisa faced him rather than retreating inside. Without the hover of Sam and Ruby, she was kind and warm. Even with damp hair and tired eyes, she was lovely. The woman before him should have been everything that he could ask for, but still his racing heart came more from nerves than arousal. That and the fact that back in the Impala, C.N. was talking, and Dean could not hear him. The call segment would begin, and although he wasn’t sure he was ready to call in so soon after the Bela incident, he wanted the option to.  

It was while he was distracted by the thought that Lisa hooked her hands around his neck and brought him down to meet her lips.

The kiss was soft and tasted faintly of medicinal lip balm. She caressed the corner of his mouth and Dean kissed back, although his hands stayed frozen at his side. At least he brushed his teeth.

It should have been picturesque, but the movement of her mouth and warm taste of penicillin fell flat. A painful throbbing in his chest spoke of dissatisfaction. The kiss was perfect, but not perfect for him.

When Lisa pulled away, there was sadness in her gaze.

“You’ve got someone else on your mind. I can tell,” she said, caressing his cheek with a soft palm. “It’s okay.”

Lisa offered him one last, longing look as the door clicked shut. Dean stumbled back to the car, hands shaking. The only thing that calmed them was the voice that started up again once his key was in the ignition.

“ _The first step to happiness is acknowledging what you want._ ”

-

A lot had been lost in the fire nearly twenty years ago. Sam’s crib that John and Mary built together, a photo album that belonged to Mary’s parents, and John’s record collection were among the many. But John and their family had especially felt the loss of Mary herself. It took four years for John to gather the strength to renovate the blackened walls into something usable. Even then, all he did was stick spare boxes in it which were left to gather dust. Dean was certain that the only reason they never abandoned the house altogether was because John’s depression did not allow him to make the transition.

Dean was glad, and although Sam hadn’t known their mother, he got to grow up in the house she loved.

Despite John’s various fits and bouts of destruction, Dean never let him be rid of the doilies, the drapes, or the furniture that Mary picked out. He would dust them, wash them, and in one instance where Sam had infested the house with lice, wrap them up in black trash bags and leave them in the sun. Dean had threatened to do the same to Sam.

All in all, if the stove was simmering with roast and the tan curtains with their sweet, pink blossoms billowed, it was home.

The only thing that made it feel more familiar was the sound of John’s violent footsteps and grating voice- which was why Dean felt fourteen all over again.

“When was the last time you cleaned this sty up?” John asked, scowling at the stack of dishes on the table. Dean refrained from reminding him of the state the house had been in before the man up and left. A stack of dishes was no comparison. “Was Sam doing all the housework? Is that it?”

Dean rubbed at the bridge of his nose, keeping silent about the years of single-handedly picking up after everybody. He wouldn’t even _allow_ Sam to help when he offered, instead telling the boy to do his homework or spend time with friends because that was _important_. But Dean really didn’t expect John to have noticed any of that.

And with Sam gone… Dean couldn’t make himself care about the state of things as long as the curtains were clean and his mother’s china was tucked safely away.

“I don’t have time for this. Why are you here?” Dean asked, taking the stack of dishes to the sink and beginning to soak them. “Or are you just trying to be friendly?” There was no measure to the malice in his words.

“I was watching TV the other day,” John said.

“No surprise there,” Dean whispered beneath his breath.

“And what name do I hear?”

Dean froze, his shoulders pulled closely to his ears.

“It seems a lot of big people know your name,” John said, crossing his arms. “It has quite the humiliating association these days.”

Dean slammed a plate down so hard it was a blessing it didn’t shatter. “Excuse me?”

“Did you purposely become some sort of icon for emotionally unwell people or did it just sort of happen?”

“Why would you even care about that?” Dean asked, leaving the kitchen. His father followed him. “What does it have to do with you?”

“It’s embarrassing!” John shouted.

“I’m embarrassing? Me?” Dean was near eruption. “What, did I make you look bad while I was fifteen- and working two jobs- so we didn’t lose the house? So Sam, being the damn bean stalk that he is, could have clothes?”

“Don’t you dare-”

“Was it embarrassing because your _friends_ all knew exactly what you contributed to his upbringing? Which, by the way, was a big old pile of nothing!”

“I am his father and I did what I could. Sam knows that,” John said, slamming his fist on the coffee table. It groaned.

“Sam had no father,” Dean snapped. “He had _me_.”   

“I let you live in _my house_ ,” John started, but Dean cut him off.

“This is Mom’s house. And better yet, it’s mine. Take a look at the lease sometime, _Dad_. I’ve paid the whole damn thing off!” Dean walked around him to hold the front door open. “And it’s time for you to go.”

After the five minutes it took to coerce the man away, Dean slumped against the door and took a series of deep breaths. His heart was still pounding. Sweat soaked his bangs. After showering until the water turned cold and hostile, Dean switched on the radio and let out a shaky laugh as C.N. spoke.

“ _Change is necessary. With change comes the opportunity for growth.”_ The man must have been an angel. He always knew what had to be said.

Dean really needed to call him.

-

“I haven’t heard from him,” Castiel said, scowling and refusing to make eye contact.

“Oh really? Because I thought by now you two would be planning your little date.” Balthazar leaned against the frame of the door, not quite in or out. The apartment was darker than usual because a bulb had blown and Castiel kept forgetting to get a replacement. It was scribbled on the list above the milk and below the ibuprofen, tacked to the fridge.

“It was a joke, Balthazar. We were referencing movies.”

“Good, because I guarantee you, nothing good could come of you two meeting.” The man slinked in, running a finger over a nearby lampshade. It pulled away with a spot of dust. Before him, Castiel was gathering empty take-out boxes and transporting them to the trash. “Are you ever even home anymore?”

“What do you mean?”

“This place is a bit… left behind,” Balthazar said.

“No, I mean about the prospect of Dean and I meeting.” Castiel tied up the trash bag and set it aside the one before it. He ought to take them out.

“Your expectations of him are too high,” Balthazar said. “The way you perceive him and the way he actually is will inevitably differ and you will only be disappointed.”

“Why?” Castiel asked.

“Because, you don’t know him.”

“I do know him.”

 “Cassie…” Balthazar placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, at which Castiel glowered. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Castiel plucked the limb off with a careful hand and deposited it back at Balthazar’s side. “You were the one who said it was a sign.”

“Well, maybe I wanted it to be,” Balthazar snapped. “I love your show, Cassie, but I’ve been watching the numbers. Thanks to Bela I know how fickle your audience can be. None of this is permanent.” Castiel turned away, looking down. “Naomi is offering you stability. You can be happy.”

“I am happy,” he said. It was at that exact moment that his shoulders sagged and the pain returned to his temple- for which he still had no ibuprofen.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever been happy.” When Balthazar said it, it felt final, like he had won. But there was no victory in his sympathetic eyes.

Castiel was supposed to be better. Ever since Bela had dropped off of the proverbial map, routine had proceeded as normal. He’d get up, scamper around, just barely remember to eat, and then count down the minutes for _Midnight Matters_ to air. Still, he felt so dissatisfied.

“You keep talking on your show about making a change. Well, make one.”

“But Crowley is going to renew me,” Castiel said.

“Naomi is offering a five year contract. What’s Crowley got? Another twelve months before you start worrying all over again?” Balthazar looked as if he wanted to sit, but thought better of it. Instead, he laid a hand on the couch arm. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy-”

“Which, you are doing splendidly,” Castiel said.

“But think of it. You and I co-hosting the biggest radio show across America. Viewers love co-hosted shows. They are statistically more successful.” Balthazar patted Castiel’s cheek and Castiel was even more close to guiding him out the front door and locking the deadbolt. “More politics, less nonsense. I get it… That Lawrence, Kansas is good. He really picked things up for you. But it’s time to move on.”

Castiel recoiled. “Wait, no call segments?”

“God, no. At the rate we’ll be going, there won’t be the time.”

“I don’t want that.”

“You will. But first you have to realize that Dean isn’t always going to be there and when he moves on, you’ll still be stuck on the same old Midnight Matters.” When Castiel said nothing, Balthazar turned to leave. “I’m just looking out for you, kid.”

“Well, don’t,” Castiel said.

“Someone has to, and I just thought it’d be nice to mention before I left.”

That caught Castiel’s attention. “Left? Left where?” His eyes narrowed.

“I’ve got a business thing in London. I tried to tell you before but you’ve been surprisingly hard to reach for someone who talks to strangers for a living.” Balthazar tried to smile, but it was feeble. “The next time you see me, it’ll be in New York and we’ll be signing that contract.”

He was gone before Castiel could call out another complaint.

-

For someone he had shared little actual interaction with, Sam gave Castiel hope in the way he hadn’t felt in many years. Not the general idea of hope but the selfish hope of a man who wakes alone every morning.

“That’s too bad, Sam,” Castiel said, shaking his head and endlessly criticizing himself for not being genuine.

“ _They just didn’t get on well at all. Lisa’s great, really, but there wasn’t a connection._ ”

When Sam had segued into the topic of the blind date Dean had went on, Castiel didn’t think too much of it. Aside from a striking bite of blatant jealously, he was calm. But then Sam described the complete and utter misery that was the luncheon and the radio host felt much better. Guilty, but better.

“Blind dates are often awkward or dissatisfying, but it is the courage to attend one that should be valued,” Castiel said.

_“But get this,”_ Sam said. “ _Dean had to go pick her up because her car broke down and he likes to think he’s a gentleman.”_ Castiel laughed. “ _He told me they got on pretty well, that she was nice and he was wrong to judge her based on something_ I _set up for them, which by the way, was rude._ ”

“Oh? So will they be seeing each other again?” Castiel tried to sound casual, but his hands were already sweating and that was never a good sign.

“ _I don’t think so. When I asked, he seemed pretty surprised at the suggestion. I just want Dean to find someone he can be happy with_.”

Castiel agreed wholeheartedly, but could not fight the desire to become that happiness. A voice on the radio could never be enough.

There was a brief scratching sound and a shout from the line.

“Sam?” Castiel asked. “Are you still with us?”

“ _No one listens to me around here,”_ a woman said. Sam could be heard faintly in the background. “ _Hey, how’re you doing?”_

“Hello-”

“ _Ruby.”_

“Hello, Ruby. How can I help you?” Castiel asked.

“ _I think you mean, how can I help_ you. _I’m gonna go ahead and say what everyone is thinking, but nobody apparently has the balls to.”_

Castiel understood then what Dean meant in describing the woman as corrosive. “What would that be?”

_“Dean_ _doesn’t_ need _to find someone. He’s got you, Angel boy_.”

Castiel felt his insides furl. “Although I believe your heart is in the right place, you have to consider-”

“ _Oh, don’t worry. I am very much taking into consideration Dean’s unique style of self loathing and your cowardice._ ”

“Excuse me, but-”

“ _But- I know something’s real when I see it. So tell me, if you’re concerned about Dean’s loneliness and claim to care for him, what’s stopping you?_ ”

Castiel had dealt with belligerent callers before, but none that never let him get a word in and directly judged his own personal actions.

“ _Is it a sexuality thing? Are you, or are you not, ga-”_

A loud screech rang out before Sam’s voice returned. “ _I am so, so sorry._ ”

“That’s alright, Sam. Your girlfriend is very… charming.”

And right.

Castiel was a coward. 

-

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard your voice,” Castiel said. On the line, Dean made a slightly strangled sound.

“ _I know. I’m terrible._ ”

“You certainly are not.”

“ _I should have called sooner. I didn’t have a reason not to, but I didn’t. I’m sorry_.”

The day had been long and arduous but it all dissipated at the sound of his voice. Dean didn’t have to apologize for having his own life to worry about, but the fact that he did told tales. Castiel couldn’t be imagining their bond, not if Ruby was right and everyone could see it. But what did that mean? What was he supposed to even do? “It’s alright, Dean. Although, I did miss your company.”

Dean let out another garbled sound, as if debating with himself. _“I saw your show with Bela.”_

“Oh?”

“ _You didn’t have to do that. Defend me_.”

“Of course I did,” Castiel said. “It was my turn to speak and so I said what was needed. Any one of our listeners would have done the same.”

_Our listeners_.

“ _Thank you. I just feel like I’m too old for all of this… TV, radio, limelight, all the excitement, it’s what you dream of when you’re young. I’d much rather just talk to you._ ”

“I’m thirty years old,” Castiel said. “And what I know is that thirty is too young to forget who you are and too old to really change it. Embrace your youth, Dean, become whoever you want while you are still malleable.”

“ _Like a famous radio sensation?_ ”

“Exactly like that.”

He wanted to say something more, but the words were inconceivable.

-

“ _It’s important that you take this opportunity, Cassie,”_ Balthazar said. Castiel could practically see his expression on the other end of the line. “ _I’ll pay for travel and stay. Take the vacation._ ”

“Balthazar, I have no desire to go _any_ seminar, let alone one in Texas.” Beside Castiel, Gabriel waved his arms frantically. Castiel cut him off with a wave of his own. “I know how to host a radio show. I’ve been doing it for ten years of my life.”

Gabriel stormed away.

“ _Cocky, aren’t you? It’ll be simple. Fly down there, sit in, maybe even contribute if your think yourself capable. Have damn drink in a bar, not alone on that nasty couch of yours_.”

“I like my couch.”

Gabriel came back holding out a map, finger pointing firmly to it. Castiel swiped a hand at him and knocked it aside. He covered the speaker of his phone and mouthed _business_. Gabriel held the map up again and began aggressively mouthing something Castiel could not follow.

“Besides, I can’t just leave my listeners. They depend on me.”

“ _Anna can cover for you. You can even make a topic agenda for her to follow._ ”

Gabriel held the map up again, much closer. Finally, Castiel understood. His finger was placed just west of Kansas City and he was smiling with all of his teeth showing. Really, Castiel should have thought of it first.

“One condition,” he said.

“ _Anything_ ,”

“I’m driving.”

Castiel tried to stay calm as Gabriel threw a victorious fist into the air. He wasn’t a coward.

Not anymore.


	13. He laughed and it was perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m Dean, by the way,” Dean said, as if the name-tag on his shirt and Castiel’s borderline clinical obsession hadn’t already suggested that. He was surprisingly gentle in closing the car door. “You’re lucky you have me. I’m good with the oldies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so I think I had too much fun writing this chapter! Ahhhh, stuff is happening! Thingssss. Go follow my tumblr for updates and info or message me there or here or comment or bake a pie- just do what makes you happy!
> 
> http://malicelikestowrite.tumblr.com/

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter thirteen  – He laughed and it was perfect

 

Castiel should have mentioned to his listeners much earlier about his impending vacation, but could not bring himself to. That is how, the night before he was due to leave, he was obligated to confess.

“I apologize, but for the next ten days a different voice will speak for Midnight Matters.” He sat, a leg crossed over his knee and chin resting on his hand. The scratch of Castiel’s overgrown stubble irritated his skin but no doubt he would forget to shave again when he got home. “She is a dear friend whom I have known the majority of my life. Although I will miss hearing your voices, she will speak for me. Think of her words as an extension of my own.”

Castiel sagged in his chair. It would be false to say that he would not miss a particular voice more than others- but if he was lucky…

Castiel tugged at the edge of his cuffs and tried to remember what he was supposed to say.

-

Forty hours, seven gas stations, and one highly suspicious hotel later, Castiel saw it. A hardly visible, green, rectangular sign that said _Lawrence_ – _5_. It was so beautiful in its simplicity, like the reassurance of a strong grip. The sign served as a reminder that all movies come to an end, and when the credits roll, they are supposed to make sense. With his hands clenching the steering wheel, Castiel hoped that he could come to know that sense of resolve.

He wasn’t even sure what possessed him to make such an irrational, serendipitous decision. He blamed it on Balthazar’s grating voice berating him over the line. His own irritation made him weak to Gabriel’s suggestion. It was entirely the man’s fault.

Castiel kept chanting this to himself as he persevered into the unknown that was somehow familiar.  

-

Castiel would have been entirely idiotic (rather than only slightly) if he had driven to Lawrence with no plan of action. After spending a few hours cross-referencing the address listed for Dean online with the various confessions the man made on the air – Working as a mechanic for a man named Bobby that was a turn away from Lafitte’s, the diner- Castiel found it.

_Singer’s Auto Parts._

He wasn’t _stalking_ Dean. All the information had been voluntarily given, only Dean did not know how Castiel would come to use it.

It took a fair amount of rerouting and angry, blared horns before Castiel found himself parked in the shop’s lot. When he returned home, he would not miss the terrible traffic. Even at two in the afternoon it was clogged to all of its corners.

Castiel had thought of a thousand different scenarios that could result from him walking in, holding out his hand, and introducing himself to Dean. But Dean didn’t know his name, so not only would he have to say his name but further explain that he was the man he spoke to every night on the radio. From there, Dean would either be excited (thrilled, hopefully) to see him _or_ take great disturbance at Castiel’s presence in his workplace, eighteen hundred miles from home. Castiel _tried_ not to imagine the latter, but doubt was infectious.

The only thing he knew about Dean was that his eyes are green, and he only knew because Bela had mentioned it before proceeding to tear his character down. As for his features, a thousand different possibilities morphed around and together. Castiel didn’t know where to begin guessing.

Bodies scrambled around in the garage, but at his distance, they were nothing more than grey blurs. One of them was Dean.

Castiel wasn’t a stalker, but he sure hoped Dean would forgive him anyway.

He wished that the moment he insisted Sam give Dean the phone, a large set of smoke letters would’ve appeared in the sky reading, _Are you sure_? Because nothing else could have remotely began to warn him of the lengths he would eventually go to for one person. Meeting someone that could invoke such decisions shouldn’t occur while nibbling at a sour-dough bagel. There was nothing fantastical about that.

Where were the musical scores? The long-lasting looks overlaid by a whimsical tune? The only sound Castiel heard sitting in his car was the whirring from the garage and the occasional aggressive honk from the street.

It was with such negative desperation that he finally exited and walked (as slowly as capable) toward the entrance. Standing at the glass door, Castiel refused to look inside, ignoring the chill in his bones. He’d go in when he was ready.

To help _prepare_ himself, he faced the street, and only the street. He had counted to ten about a dozen times before a voice (very close in proximity) asked, “Can I help you?”

It was Castiel’s job to recognize the voices of strangers over the radio, but the consequential shiver was far more personal. He turned around with the confidence of a disease-stricken dog stumbling from an alley, unsure if that would be its final emergence.

Castiel wasn’t one to linger on things such as the morning dew that clung to draping leaves or the whistle of songbirds trying to understand love- but still, no fleeting, poetic detail could ever be as momentary or unfathomable as when Castiel looked upon Dean. It was acute, sharp, static.

Bela could not have hoped to describe it. Eyes had never been so green and large and swimming with gold and morning weariness. The sun had never left a more perfect, scattered touch than that across the bridge of his nose and jut of his cheekbones. Castiel _saw_ Dean, and confirmed what he had always known.

Dean was beautiful- the kind of beautiful that meant more in strokes of paint than any written words.

While Castiel found himself seized with absolute _panic_ , Dean wiped his large, stained knuckles with a rag and repeated himself. “Can I help you, Sir?”

“Uh…” Castiel’s jaw would not cooperate. He was beyond out of his mind. He’d anticipated a spark (and hoped for friction), but found himself beneath a bolt of lightning that was cripplingly singular (as friction was created between two surfaces and it was apparent that Dean had no idea who he was). Dean was also awaiting a response. Castiel could finally offer a hand and say, _Hello, Dean. It’s nice to finally meet you_.

It was so simple.

“My car!” Castiel shouted, throwing an accusatory finger toward the rickety vehicle. “I just… I want to know how she’s making the trip.”

_What?_

“Trip?” Dean asked, approaching the car.

“Yes, I’m…” _Castiel_. “Not from here.”

Castiel was beyond back-pedaling.

Dean tilted his head and _squinted_ at him, which should not have been both so perfect and nerve-wracking. Castiel’s left leg started to go numb and he kept his arms pressed solid against his sides- unsure if he had ever really known where to put them.

Even in the greasy, ill-fitted shop shirt, Dean’s arms strained from their bulk and the putrid color could do nothing to wash out the liveliness of his skin. Dean wore dirt and sweat like it was in for the season. He was unperturbed by the damp, January cold. Castiel could only guess that the man’s complete and utterly blistering aesthetic was combating it.

“Let’s go ahead and move inside so I can do a routine check.”

“Okay,” Castiel _whimpered_.

While relocating the vehicle, Castiel swore that Dean had side-eyed him multiple times, but couldn’t bring himself to call the man on it. Was there something on his face? Did he stain his coat or put his tie on backwards again? Impossible- Castiel had double-checked it before driving to the auto shop in the first place.

Catching Dean’s eyes, he whipped his head around to stare at anything else.

Eighteen hundred miles later and he was still a coward.

“Are you…” Dean said, his voice wavering. “I mean, you seem…”

Castiel peeked back at where Dean was opening the garage door, head tilted yet again.

“Nevermind,” Dean said, taking Castiel’s keys. “’78 Lincoln Continental Mark V.” He laughed and it was perfect. “It matches your coat.” And then he smiled at him.

Castiel contemplated the statistical likelihood of Dean catching him should he pass out, but decided the ratio not to be in his favor. He’d stay conscious- for the time being. It did not help that the inside of the garage was hot and groggy. With the door shut again, Castiel had to strip off his coat, which involved a brief entanglement of the limbs. He prayed savagely that Dean did not witness and likely didn’t. Dean was parking the Lincoln beside a Chevy Impala, of a year unknown to Castiel.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” Dean said, as if the name-tag on his shirt and Castiel’s borderline clinical obsession hadn’t already suggested that. He was surprisingly gentle in closing the car door. “You’re lucky you have me. I’m good with the oldies.”

“I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel?” Dean asked. Castiel held his breath. “That's interesting. Something to remember, I guess."

Of course the name meant virtually nothing to the man.

“Another project?” he asked, pressing through the pain.

Dean looked over at the Impala and his expression twisted from something professional to angry endearment. “Nah, she’s mine. Giving me trouble though. I just replaced her windshield wipers.”

“You are fond of… her?” Castiel asked. He’d never heard Dean mention anything about his car, and normally it wouldn’t matter, but Dean’s face suggested otherwise.

“She is my greatest remaining treasure.”

He never knew. There could be a million things he never knew about Dean. He wanted to sit the man down and ask him everything. His favorite type of apple, style of home décor, even his most despised vegetable (which everyone had no matter what they insisted). Castiel ached to know him.

“Okay, well, I’ll get working on inspection. Bobby is over at the desk so you can go fill out the paperwork there.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Castiel tried really hard to keep positive as he walked away.

-

He would much rather be speaking to Dean than sitting in a terribly uncomfortable waiting room chair, but there was an intimacy to be found in watching him work. The shirt had been shed recently, leaving the man in a tank top that exposed every perfect curve of his arms. Castiel was certain that Bobby (who was as acidic yet welcoming in person as he was over the phone) was about to file a harassment suit.

Or maybe he was used to it.

Either way, an hour passed filled with Castiel berating himself again and again for not telling Dean who he was. Dean didn’t even have to personally retrieve Castiel as he was still staring when the man turned around to wave him over.

“She’s pretty much perfect,” he said, wiping a towel over his slick forearms. “I’m not sure why you were worried, but I guess you can’t be too careful.”

Castiel swallowed and nodded slowly.

"You're not really a talker, are ya, Cas?" Dean asked, crossing his arms and doing the strangest, irritating half smile. “You know I can’t put my finger on it, but you seem familiar. But I also think I’d remember you.”

“Why’s that?” Castiel asked, replaying Dean’s _Cas_ repeatedly in his head.

Dean stared. It was calculating and intrusive and gave Castiel a rush straight to the pit of his stomach. “For one, Castiel is quite the name.”

“It’s an angel’s name,” Castiel spouted.

Dean reared back the slightest. “Also, your eyes are blue. Like, really blue. Not to be weird or anything.” Castiel could not believe that somehow the situation became _Dean_ stumbling over his words. Dean… who had given him a clear ten minute viewing of being bent over a car hood.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

But it wasn’t, because Castiel could feel the edge of terror returning as Dean looked at him with narrowed eyes. He had wanted to be beside Dean for so long, and now, standing so close, Castiel wanted to take hold of the man’s angular jaw and plant a kiss against his lips.

“I should leave,” he said, reaching out a hand. Dean took it and their grips both lingered. His skin was calloused but warm. “Thank you.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel was already shuffling to pay his fee so he could bolt.

_‘Oh, what have I done?’_ he thought, fishing for his wallet. 

_-_

Castiel had panicked. It was normal for people when facing particular circumstances to panic. It just so happened that he was susceptible to instances of prolonged eye-contact with long-distance love interests.

_Love interests_ … because Anna was right, and damn her for it.

Castiel was in love. He had to have already known, but denial was easy when Dean was halfway across the states. Theoretically, they never should have met. Dean and Castiel had no feasible reason to cross paths, and yet they did. Castiel didn’t believe in destiny, but that everything was accidental and this made no sense to some. Still, meeting Dean for the first time, and every word that led up to it, was the perfect accident. Like water that whittled away at rock, grind by grind, until it broke through and became rapids.

Castiel considered this while seated in a booth at _Lafitte’s_. With a Coke and a slice of blueberry pie, Castiel tried to drown his pity party in sugar and Crisco-heavy crust. It was either that or the liquor store, and he still had quite the drive ahead of him to get to Dallas.

And leave behind what? Possibility? How could Castiel let himself just walk away?

“You’ve been staring at that for five minutes, Brother,” a man said, startling Castiel to attention. The fork hovering in front of his mouth did start to feel heavy. “Rough day?”

The man was tall and stocky with stubble crawling up from his neck. He wore an old, grey hat and kindness in his eyes.

“A wasted opportunity, really,” Castiel said.

The man placed a full glass of Coke beside his nearly empty one. “At love or work?”

Castiel switched his straw over and began to drain the new cup with a continuous sip.

“So, love,” the man said. Castiel furrowed his eyebrows. “People are ashamed to talk about love. It’s sad, if you ask me. Lovin’ someone should be the last thing you ever keep to yourself.”

The man made to walk away, but Castiel placed a rushed hand on his exposed forearm, stopping him. “I _am_ in love,” he said. The man’s eyes went wide. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Well,” the man returned the touch on Castiel’s shoulder. “All you can do is try.”

Before Castiel left the diner, he ordered a slice of rhubarb pie to go. It came wrapped in foil and tucked into a brown paper bag, which was plain. But Castiel had high hopes for it.

-

By the time he got back to the garage, Castiel was so fired up that the bag of pie may as well have been a lance. The door was cranked open, so he didn’t have to worry about side-stepping Bobby to get in. In fact, Dean was there, with his back to him, hands resting on the hood of the Impala.

The sight of his slumping shoulders made the most memorable silhouette.

Castiel ran fingers through his hair, triple-checked his tie, and told himself, _try_.

“Dean!”

Castiel whipped his head around to see a young woman with straight hair and a leather jacket. It was her who had shouted.

Dean turned and when he saw her, his face lit up like the neon signs of New York City and he opened his arms wide. Castiel could hear the clicking of her boots as she ran toward him. He watched the way her thin arms wrapped around Dean’s neck and he picked her up with ease. Castiel’s stomach was as twisted as the twirl he swung her in- blonde hair whipping like a sheet of silk. The hand Dean placed at the base of her neck was firm, as was the kiss on her flawless brow. Castiel’s grip on the brown, paper bag became more of a fatal clench. Its crumple was the same accordion collapse that his lungs experienced, and all he could think was, _Sam had been wrong about Lisa._

Anyone could see that Dean was beyond overjoyed to see her. Her tumble into his arms had not been what Castiel expected his own arrival to consist of, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t entertained the thought.

Because he had.

The energy he had gathered at _Lafitte’s_ flickered out. The woman’s twittering laugh grated on Castiel’s ears, grounding him. Dean must have felt the sheer misery of his presence because the spectacular man looked up and found Castiel’s down-trodden expression instantly. He still held the paper bag.

“Cas?” Probably thinking Castiel had returned to inquire something about the car, Dean pushed the petite blonde back and began to head over. Castiel did exactly what would have been expected by Ruby, Balthazar, Bela, and everyone in his family that he had ever disappointed.

He tucked tail and ran.

-

“What was that about? Jo asked, placing a hand on Dean’s arm. After several months spent out of state, she was reluctant to distance herself from him.

Dean watched the Lincoln careen away at what wasn’t even remotely near the speed imit. “Not sure,” he said.

There was something oddly alarming about seeing the man, Castiel, drive away.

“Did you know him?” Jo asked.

Dean hesitated. “No.”

-

“Do you ever feel like something really important happened, but you missed it?” Dean asked, clutching the phone.

“ _You mean like murder, war, acts of terrorism, people being cured of cancer_?” Ruby said. Even over the phone she had Dean wanting to rip out his own hair.

“Ruby, I’m serious.”

“ _So am I_.”

“Why am I even talking to you? Put Sam on the phone.”

“ _He’s busy_.”

“Doing what?”

“ _Eating me out._ ”

“Jesus, Ruby,” Dean snapped, slamming a fist onto the table. “Not only are you disgusting but you’re the most useless person I’ve ever met. And trust me, you’re not my first choice. But seeing as Mr. Midnight Matters is away and hey, _I don’t have any friends_ , I thought you might be able to, I don’t know, _be there for me_.”

Ruby was silent for a minute before,   “ _A little lower, Sammy_.”

“Good-fucking-bye.”

“ _Christ, Dean. Chill out. Now, what is all this shit about something important happening?_ ”

“C.N. Is gone.”

“ _Temporarily. Don’t cry yourself to sleep just yet._ ”

“C.N. is gone and then today… today this man shows up at my work and he’s…” Dean trailed off, collapsing into a chair. His back thanked him for the break. “He said my name and for a second I thought he was…”

“ _He was what?”_

Dean could not allow himself to hope. The feeling of familiarity at the rich, rumble of Castiel’s voice had to have been some bizarre, déjà vu-esque coincidence...

“ _Are you still there?”_

Dean hung up the phone and switched it off. It sat, black-screened on the table as he rubbed his eyes.

He was definitely losing it.  

-

Neck to neck, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh… bare bodies slipping into each other’s crevices, like the reassembly of something greater that had once been broken- becoming. The absolution brought on by Dean’s dick tucked in alongside Castiel’s was resolute chaos.

“This is what the Bible meant when it spoke of Creation,” Castiel gasped. Beside him, Dean sunk further against his bones. “I can feel an entire world coming into existence.”

The light, the dark- the crash of the waves against an eruption of earth… every soul that opened its flesh eyes for the first time... Castiel could feel it. The sun rose and fell endlessly and in the shutter of day and night, Dean caught his gaze.

“I’m coming,” he said, and Castiel tore himself away and awake.

The soft light of the hotel bathroom lit the room in the barest way. Outside, Dallas blinked and cars hummed. It reminded Castiel of his childhood home and the rhubarb pie that sat in a trashcan in El Dorado, Kansas (as most wishes did). He peeled the blankets from his sweat-drenched skin and took rapid, gasping breaths. He could still feel Dean’s leftover traces.

Dropping his head back into the damp pillow, Castiel covered his eyes and tried to chase the fading dream.

It never did work that way. Besides, it had been masochistic from the start.

 


	14. Anything Could Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jody and me aren’t perfect. We fight. Alex slams the door on my face probably twice a week.” Bobby placed a gentle hand on Dean’s arm. “It’s tough. But love is tough. It makes you tough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for this chapter being so late! I moved from south Texas to Sante Fe, NM, so things have been a bit wild! Thanks to my Beta, and remember to follow me on tumblr http://malicelikestowrite.tumblr.com/

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter fourteen  – Anything could happen

 

Work was safe. Work meant bills could be paid and Sam could eat and Dean got eight hours a day of consistency. The sounds and smells and textures he took home on his skin had been Dean’s anchor for nearly a decade. Dean may die in that building for all he knew, and that hadn’t been such a bad thought the year before or the year before that.

Now it was a sad and morbid idea.

“Confidentiality, Dean,” Bobby said, crossing his arms and raising both of his eyebrows.

“It’s not a hospital, Bobby. Please.” Dean walked around the streaked desk to stand beside the man. Dean may have been bigger than him but he never stopped feeling small. “Just the name.”

“You know, you could have just asked him,” Bobby said. “I’m sure he woulda said yes. He did spend his entire stay ogling you like a dirty magazine.”

“Bobby!” Dean covered his face. “ _Please_.”

“Funny,” Bobby dropped a folder onto the counter. It made a terrible slapping sound and kicked up soot. “I thought you didn’t like paperwork.”

“Haha,” Dean mocked. He ran a hand over the manila paper and peeled it open like a child afraid to remove a band-aid. Inside, the handwriting was a beautiful, terribly messy cursive and the name at the top antique in its elegance.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on the screaming machinery around him, but the room fell silent.

-

There was something about living alone that gave Dean plenty of time to stew. He could lay, face down on the couch and groan or sprawl out on the floor or, if he desired, across the kitchen table. He had no standard to live up to, and despite still being stressed occasionally, he was rarely seized by anxiety so gripping that he’d scrub the house from the gutters to the dead grass. Dean found a middle-ground.

He had been in his boxers for approximately four hours when the doorbell rang. Dean considered ignoring it for his bowl of Cocoa Puffs (which he’d already refilled once) but the bell chimed again. Cursing and picking up the bowl to take with him, Dean walked very slowly in hopes his visitor would leave.

Just before Dean could unlock the door, the knob turned and it swung open. Behind it, in an icy drizzle of rain was Sam and Ruby- Ruby holding up a Visa card.

“I’ve still got it,” she announced, propping a hand on her hip. Her smile did not last very long. “Why are you naked?”

Dean looked at Sam, whose eyebrows were furrowed and lips frowning. “Um, this is my house?” he said. “At least I think it is. What day is it? Where am I?”

Ruby stepped inside and gave herself a canine-like shake, spattering flecks of ice on the walls.

“We came to check on you. Your phone has been off for days.” Sam said, crossing his arms. People had been doing that around Dean lately. “And according to Ruby, your last correspondence was troubling.”

“Who even says ‘correspondence’?” Dean asked around a mouthful of cereal.

“And I can see by your… interesting outfit, maybe coming over was the right decision.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean said. “And your wallet was cool with this?”

Ruby raised her hand. “My dad owns a travel agency. Free flights, anywhere, anytime.”

Standing in a puddle tracked in by the unwanted visitors, in nothing but his underwear, Dean scowled.

“I thought I mentioned that at Christmas?” Sam asked.

“You didn’t.”

“Well, I hope we’re not intruding…”

“Sam,” Dean snapped. “Look, I don’t care if you’re here. I like you being here. Her? Not so much.” Ruby stuck her tongue out and twisted her entire face with it. “But there is nothing you can do or say to make me, A- put on pants, or B- not finish off the entire box of cereal on my table. Capisce?”

As he walked off, Ruby and Sam followed, Sam muttering to himself, “Who even says ‘capisce’?”

-

“I thought I was crazy,” Dean said, gliding a spoon through his milk. “I mean, I have no idea how or why, but he was there. I’m sure of it. It was him.” Across from him, Ruby sat surrounded by empty beer cans.

“Sam… Your brother’s lost it.”

“Ruby!” Sam snapped, taking the open one out of her hand. “I think that’s enough of that.”

Dean pushed his empty bowl aside. “No, let her drink it. In fact, she can have the whole case.” He kicked his feet up on the table. “I’ve got more important things to think about.”

“Like whether or not this Castiel Novak character is the angel that whispers to you from the radio?” Ruby asked, and Dean would have found her words to be condescending if her expression hadn’t been so sincere. She set her beer on the table. “People sound different on the phone… how can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” Dean said. “But I looked at him, like, really looked at him, and I saw him.”

“So you _think_ this guy was C.N.”

“I’ve been talking to him for four months.” Dean wrung his hands together. “Besides, his initials are the name.”

“Lots of names have those initials,” Ruby said. “Carlton Neil, Cecil Nolan-“

“Castiel Novak,” Sam said.

Ruby smacked her hand on his stomach without so much as glancing at him. “What if you’re wrong, Dean?”

 “I’m not wrong.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why would he drive almost two thousand miles to see you?”

Dean laughed, “ _That_ I really don’t know.”

“Unless he loves you,” Ruby said.

There was a brief moment of silence save for the gentle hum of the old freezer and Dean’s ragged breaths.

“Ruby…” Sam whispered.

“Love makes people do things. Dumb, kind of creepy things.”

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t love me. We’re friends,” Dean said, standing and wandering to the fridge. Inside there were no answers, but he looked anyway. “Love is… it’s different.”

“How is that?” Sam asked. “Love is effort, isn’t it? If you’re right and it _was_ him-”

“Sounds like a lot of fucking effort,” Ruby said, pushing the fridge shut. Dean tried to open it again but she leaned against it. He could have removed her in theory, but Ruby was probably a lot harder to get rid of than one might think. “How come you don’t meet him? For real. Not some _When a Stanger Calls_ bullshit but like… I don’t know, a date?”

“Us actually meeting is nothing more than a joke,” Dean said. “I don’t why he was there. Maybe he stopped by because he was in the neighborhood. Maybe I’m actually crazy and it _wasn’t_ him.”

“Why do you think it’s a joke?” Sam asked.

“Because he has _actually_ joked about it,” Dean snapped. The two unannounced guests had him emotionally cornered. Dean added gravel to his voice as he mocked, “ _Let’s meet at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s_.” Dean’s voice returned to normal. “Never mind that neither of us are anywhere near New York and, oh yeah, we might as well be strangers.”

“You’ve had sex with people you knew less,” Ruby said. Dean shot Sam an accusatory look at which he shrugged and looked anywhere but back at him.

“Not on the Empire State building!”

Sam curled his lip and bit at the skin of his knuckle while Dean and Ruby took shots at each other. It wasn’t very long before something clicked.

“It’s an Affair to Remember!” Sam shouted.

Dean and Ruby both ceased their attacks to stare at him.

“The movie? Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr? Dean, I thought you liked movies.”

The two stared at him for another moment before saying, simultaneously “ _Wow_ , Samantha.” They turned back to each other and Dean shivered, trying to shake Ruby off.

“It’s probably one of the most famous romance movies of all time,” Sam said, defensive. “Lovers agree to meet at the top of the Empire State on _Valentine’s_ day, but the woman never makes it. She gets hit by a car or something.”

“Okay, _that_ has got to be a sign,” Dean said.

“But he finds her anyway because it’s love,” Sam continued, ignoring the various faces Dean kept pulling. “But… she’s paralyzed.”

“Are you trying to help or what?” Ruby asked, smacking him again. “What Sam is trying to say is that Mr. C.N. pulled a reference from a famous lovey dovey movie so it’s highly unlikely that he was _joking_.” Ruby put her hands on her hips. “Who joke-flirts anyway? You either want some tail or you don’t. Why make it more complicated?”

Dean let Ruby ramble on, Sam nodding where appropriate.

Could they have been right? When the man suggested it… did he want Dean to say, _I’ll be there_? Because if Dean had known…

If Dean had known, he would have said it.

-

It was terrible to say goodbye again. Dean would never get used to his little brother walking out the door, but there was the slightest bit of reassurance that Ruby was looking out for the kid, although Dean would never admit it.

He didn’t tell Bobby that Sam had been by because that would beg the question as to why he was concerned about Dean in the first place. He didn’t want to worry the man.

“I swear, Alex’s gotten at least an inch taller since last time,” Dean said, mashing a bowl of potatoes.

“That’s what happens. You look away one minute and the next… well, Sam.” Bobby laughed and slapped Dean’s back. “You’re not so short yourself, but you get my point.” Bobby snatched the bowl from Dean’s hands. “If Jody knew I was making you work, she’d skin me.”

“You always make me work.”

“Yeah, but she wanted to do something special since… you know.”

“Know what?” Dean asked.

“That Midnight Matters feller isn’t on.”

“He’s supposed to be back tomorrow. Besides, his replacement is… interesting.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow and Dean shrugged. “Interesting my ass. She sounds like she’s trying to preach at a Sunday service.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed. “She does sound kind of preachy.”

Dean watched Bobby work- fluffing the potatoes in a way that was nearly dainty before setting them aside. Just as quick, he was at the stovetop, stirring a large, bubbling pot. He wasn’t an amazing cook, but Bobby’s touch was delicate and contrasted with his ruffian charm.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked.

“Like what?”

“Having a family.”

“I’ve always had a family, Idjit. Now it’s just bigger.” Bobby made to shove a bowl at Dean, but looked at it again with a grimace and carried it himself to the table. “Jody’s got me slavin’ for you, Boy.”

“Are you happy with her?” Dean asked.

“What is this? Twenty questions?” Bobby brushed his hands off on his jeans. “What do you wanna know?”

Dean stayed silent and Bobby took that as a signal to turn and face him head on.

“Dean? What’s this about?” he asked, far more serious.

“Is it better now with Jody than… well, before. Aren’t you scared that…” Dean trailed off. It was bad taste to bring up Karen, especially with Bobby having just gotten back into the idea of romance. Dean wished he could inhale his words right back in.

“Of course I’m scared,” Bobby said. “Love is scary, Dean. A lot of things in life are, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth tryin’.”

“But-”

“Jody and me aren’t perfect. We fight. Alex slams the door on my face probably twice a week.” Bobby placed a gentle hand on Dean’s arm. “It’s tough. But love is tough. It makes you tough.”

“I am already tough,” Dean said, pulling back.  

Bobby watched Dean turn away- watched his shoulders grow rigid and his head slope down. His eyes glazed over as he gazed at the boy-turned-man. “Just remember, Dean.”

“What?”

“Anything could happen.”

Dean whipped around as Alex came galloping through the door, hair pulled in a tight ponytail and wearing a camouflage jacket that was far too big. It was Bobby’s, down to the holes in the left pocket.

“I’ve gotten even better!” she exclaimed, holding a rifle in the air with one hand.

“Woah, is that anyway to hold a gun?” Dean said, letting his conversation with Bobby drift away.

“It’s not loaded.”

“You always hold a gun like it’s loaded. Look, I’ll show you.”

While Dean placed her hands appropriately on the rifle, he was reminded of Sam. His visitation felt like a dream.

Dean knew that things weren’t permanent. He watched Jody walk in and place a kiss on Bobby’s cheek and wondered if somehow, they could be.

-

Dean was always terrible at bringing things up. In fact, he’d rather not verbalize anything if given the option. Once, when Sam was thirteen, Dean found a dirty magazine shoved under his mattress. After a slap on the back and a quick joke, he pretended it never happened. He didn’t talk to him about sex because Dean figured that Sam would learn. When Sam was sixteen, Dean left a box of condoms on his pillow and let that be it.

It wasn’t that asking C.N. about the other day was equivalent to sex education, but Dean couldn’t just go about it _casually_.

_By the way, did you by chance track down my workplace and sneak a visit in your down time? I won’t be mad._

Yeah right.

“You were gone for a while,” Dean said, adjusting himself on the couch. The springs had always been broken but even he knew it was becoming a hazard to sit on. He laid across it on his stomach, chin propped up on the armrest.

“ _Yes, my apologies,_ ” C.N. said. Dean listened very carefully to his voice, however distorted over the phone.

“Where’d you go?”

“ _I had some business to attend to._ ”

Dean couldn’t be wrong. If he closed his eyes, he could see the sharp and bizarrely beautiful face of Castiel Novak- could see his thin lips move in unison to the voice in his ear.

“ _Dean? Are you still there?_ ”

“How do you feel about taking chances?” Dean asked, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“ _To be honest, I find myself partial to not rocking the proverbial boat._ ”

“But would you?” Dean asked. He gripped the phone so tight his fingers shook. “If you cared, would you?”

“ _I would.”_ he said.

Dean covered his face with a hand and tried to slow his racing pulse.

“ _Dean?”_

“What’s your name?” Dean asked.

“ _You know I can’t tell you that_.”

“Well, why not?”

Sam had Ruby. Bobby had Jody and Alex. Jo had her internship.

Dean had no one.

“Why can’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“ _Dean…_ ” He sounded ready to disappoint him.

Dean ended the call and set the phone on the floor beside where he lay. His hand rested on it as he calmed his breathing.

-

“He hates me.”

“He does not hate you,” Gabriel said, setting another beer in front of Castiel.

“He hung up on me,” Castiel said, grabbing his glass and downing half of it. Gabriel signaled the bartender back, rolling his eyes.

“Well, maybe you should just tell him your name.”

Castiel  looked at Gabriel the way one might a child asking why rich people can’t just feed poor people.

“I’m serious, Cassie. He needs something real, something to hold on to.”

“I am real,” Castiel said. “I am real and I am there.”

“You got to see him.”

“So?”

“As far as he knows, Dean’s never seen you. Nothing but a voice. There’s nothing permanent about that.” Gabriel finished off his own glass and scowled at its empty bottom.  “Shit, he doesn’t even know your name. You love him, but he doesn’t know your name.”

Castiel curled in on himself, hoping the crippling emotional stress could be passed off as nausea.

“If you love him… don’t you think you just might owe him that much?”

“Dean needs me to be his friend,” Castiel said.

“You’ve said that before.”

“But now… I don’t know if I can be his friend.” Castiel toyed with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Being on the radio… that distance is safe. I can’t be more than that but not be…”

“Not be what?” Gabriel asked, solemn.

“With him.”

The barkeeper kept doubling back each time Castiel spoke. There was something familiar about the man’s voice, but the worker couldn’t place it. The man who sat two stools down thought the same.

-

“You did _what_?” Dean snapped, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he fished for the Impala keys.

“ _Ruby got you a round-trip ticket to New York City, February fourteenth._ ”

“ _You think that was easy?_ ” Ruby’s voice echoed somewhere behind Sam’s. “ _Everything was booked! I had to call in a favor from a guy I blew five years ago-”_

“ _Will you go?_ ” Sam asked, cutting the woman off.

“Sam…” Dean began, climbing into his car and shutting out the cold. “What am I supposed to do in New York City? I’ve never left Kansas!”

A moment passed with static and the occasional grunt on the line before Ruby piped up, “ _I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to go to the top of the Empire State building and you’re going to wait._ ”

“And what happens when he doesn’t show?” Dean asked, quieter than intended.

“ _Well, then you’ll know, wont you?_ ”

“ _Just take this once chance, Dean,”_ Sam said. _“Anything could happen._ ”

“People keep saying that.”

“ _I told you, didn’t I?_ ”

“Told me what?” Dean asked, pulling out of the driveway. His work shirt, wrinkled at the collar, tickled his neck, but Dean was running late and could not press it. He ran his fingers over the creases to sooth his nerves.

“ _The song… the movie references… they’re all signs. They’ve gotta be._ ”

“I don’t believe in them,” Dean whispered.

“ _Maybe it’s time to start?_ ”

Dean loved Sam, but he also hated him. Especially when he was right.

-

The ticket confirmation that Sam and Ruby had mailed to him sat tucked between the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen table. Dean had fourteen days to decide what happened next or if anything would happen at all.

The shelves around him were stacked with old DVDs and the occasional blu-ray. He walked up and down each aisle of the Movie Exchange, desperate to kill time and distract.

The cover would not have caught his attention any other evening, but that night, the soft pastel portrait of an old-fashioned couple drew him in. Dean plucked the case from the shelf and read the peach script.

_An Affair to Remember_.

Dean laughed. He laughed to himself until his hands shook. Even later, when he paid for the used disk, they were still shaking.  


	15. Two paths, side by side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel let the dead air hang between them. He felt no threat from Crowley or anybody enough to force his words. He had none to offer. A man having spoken for ten consecutive years, fallen quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end! There is a direct quote from the movie "An Affair to Remember" in this chapter. If you do not catch it, don't worry, it will be pointed out soon. :)

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas - chapter fifteen – Two paths, side by side

 

Castiel woke to the sound of his cell phone humming softly from across the room. He watched from the couch as it scooted along the desk before coming to a sudden stop. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, but did not move. The phone began to vibrate again. Its tiny tremors could move mountains.

Castiel rolled onto the floor, groaning as empty beer bottles pressed bruises into his side. He sighed. The phone kept vibrating.

“Is this hell?” he asked the ceiling- speckled with water-damage. It took the man a full minute to fumble to the table, on which the phone began its fifth ringing session. Finally, he answered, “Are you dying? You had better be dying.”

“ _Cassie! Did I catch you at a bad time?_ ” It was Balthazar.

Castiel groaned. Among the beer bottles and food trash that littered the floor was the shattered remains of a whiskey bottle. “No.”

“ _Good. I got your tickets.”_

“Tickets?” Castiel wasn’t sure what day it was, or how long he’d blacked out for. For at least a week he had been going about his routine with a half cup of liquor in his hand and a shot of vodka before each _Midnight Matters_ show. “What tickets?”

“ _Hello. You’re meeting Naomi in New York. Did you forget? We’ve been talking about this for months!_ ”

Castiel stumbled to the mini calendar clipped to his fridge and flipped it from December to February. He settled a shaking finger on a red, scribbled note.

“Valentine’s day. Of course I didn’t forget.” He took a deep breath. “What’s today?”

“ _Castiel Novak, you get your ass to that meeting. I’m texting the information. I better see you at eight in your best attire and please, for the love of God, comb your fucking hair.”_ With that, Balthazar hung up.

Castiel stared at the blank screen. “I still don’t know what day it is,” he muttered, tossing the device over his shoulder. It clattered on the floor.

-

“I’m not sure if it’s a good look for you,” Anna said, reaching out and skimming the tips of her fingers across Castiel’s over-grown facial hair. “You look like you’re going to ask me for a dollar.”

“I haven’t had time.”

Anna sat across from Castiel in a recently-renovated café. Their seat, beside the window, gave them a beautiful view of the vicious flurry that raged beyond the glass. The ice and rain partook in a chilling spectacle- weaving and folding like seasoned dancers.  

“What do you do, exactly?” Anna asked, lacing her fingers together. “What keeps you so busy?”

“Surely you’ve got a schedule that doesn’t permit time to nose your way into my life,” Castiel said. “Besides, we all forget ourselves. Your roots are showing.”

The woman brushed her hands through her hair, where the roots were a shade more ginger than the flame of the rest. “You try very hard to distract me, Castiel. You even border on offending me.” She took a sip of her coffee. “All to draw attention away from you. I can’t say I’m surprised. For someone who hosts a radio show, you sure do hate being in the spotlight.”

“It has been an interesting last few months. I’ve found myself in the spotlight too many times, and now…” Castiel trailed off. Outside, people wrapped up in overcoats rushed to their cars.

“Now?”

“I’m tired. I always thought the show would stay the same. That days would go by, each like the last, and that would be enough.”

“But it’s not,” Anna said.

“It’s better to stop now. Put down the shovel to the grave I’m digging.”

There were many voices Castiel had come to know that he would miss. Most of all, he would miss Dean’s. He accepted it, and prepared himself for the severing. Castiel had invested far too much in that voice, and now, he wasn’t sure if he had anything left to wager. It was exhausting, and ultimately, hopeless.

“You mean because of Dean Winchester.” Anna was not surprised in the least. “First sign of actually wanting something for yourself and you bolt?”

“It’s not that, Anna, and you know it.” Castiel took her wrist in his hand and held it gently. “It’s about not being loved in equal terms.”

“ _What_?”

“Why should I have to stand by his side and support him?” Castiel asked, his teeth beginning to grind. “Why should I just swallow my feelings and play the platonic role?”

“Castiel,” Anna begged. “You’re his _friend_. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“You want me to go knock on his door and then what? Watch a sports game? Hang out at a bar? I don’t do those things, Anna. I don’t _have_ friends.”

“What does that make me?” she asked, removing her wrist from his grip and crossing her arms.

Castiel cast her a pitiful look. His eyebrows taught and lower lip trembled against his resolve. “Dean and I can’t be friends,” he said, the way he told himself every night for the past week. “I want him to be happy, I do. It is all I could ever wish for.”

“But?”

“He’s going to meet some woman, get married, have a child or two,” Castiel’s eyes began to shine and his shoulders stiffen. “And they will be the luckiest family.”

Anna reached across the table, settling her palms on each of Castiel’s stubbled cheeks. She searched through the sadness of his eyes, holding tightly. Anchoring him. “Listen to me,” she whispered, wiping her thumb across a wet streak. “I have _never_ thought of you as unperceptive, but Castiel… this is one of those moments where you either do something about it…"

"Or?" he asked.

"Or spend the rest of your life wondering why you didn't."

Anna was probably right, but he had made his decision. Just like when things had gotten bad at home, Castiel prepared himself to run.

-

Like every single person in the entirety of the world, Ruby had her own problems. She didn’t like to talk about her over-bearing dad or picture-perfect sister because she had better things to do, like pour sawdust in her eyes or purposely (and passionately) sabotage each of her manicured fingernails. Contrary to the popular trend, family to her was the classic Cain and Abel, only she and Lilith took turns slinging the rock and each time harder than the last.

Ruby sometimes pretended that was normal, but she always knew she’d drawn the short stick in the biggest gamble she never stood a chance at. Instead of bitching about it, she chose to ignore it.

Wherever Ruby went, she left something behind. Her virginity- her optimism- her favorite black clutch purse- and then somehow she picked something up in her day to day travels.

Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester had family. Despite its gnarled roots and tastelessly tragic upbringing, Ruby could admit he’d scored big-time. She’d be jealous, if there wasn’t an infectious black pit of tenderness for him taking over her insides.

Dean was for Sam what Lilith had never even imagined being for Ruby. A bloated, blistering feeling twisted in her gut when Sam told her that all he could want for was Dean’s happiness. And although Ruby was better at taking than giving, for the sake of the sensitive giant she’d set her sights on, Ruby decided that if Dean’s happiness meant Sam’s happiness, she’d just have to get her hands dirty. 

“ _Why do you keep calling me_?” Dean asked.

“I know how much you _adore_ my voice. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Sam. It’ll be our secret.” As Ruby spoke, her hands rested in the puddle of warm dishwater where she worked. The phone was tucked between her shoulder and ear, as both a mission and much-needed company. “But to the point. This weekend-”

“ _I know_ ,” Dean murmured. His voice gave a soft crackle over the line. “ _I’m still thinking about it._ ”

“You should be packing, not thinking,” Ruby said. It was true; she did call Dean rather consistently ever since hooking him up with the plane tickets. He should be grateful that she would spare him the time, but was he? Not the slightest.

“ _I_ am _thinking. I’m thinking about all the implications of me being there- of him being there. What’s it going to mean?_ ”

Ruby learned very early in life that if you don’t stake a claim on what you want the moment you want it, other people will feel obligated to take it away. It was hard for her to sympathize with those who could not speak so freely.

“You love this guy, right?” she asked.

“ _He’s just a voice._ ”

“But you do.”

“ _How do you fall in love with a voice?”_

Ruby sighed, taking the phone once again into her hand. “You tell me.”

“ _We’re on different paths. Two paths, side by side. They may be the same but they never cross.”_

“Then get off the path.”

She’d call again later, and again, until he agreed to go. When he finally did, she would tell Sam, and Sam would be ecstatic.

-

Bela visited on February the thirteenth, which, to no one’s surprise, was a Friday. She didn’t knock at the door, so much as slam her fist against it. It rattled beneath her abuse, until finally, Dean swung it open.

“What the hell!” he shouted before seeing who it was standing there. “What the hell?” he repeated. Before Dean could close the door, which he had every intention of doing, Bela wedged her black heel against it and slammed an open palm onto the wood.

“I’d like to speak to you, Dean Winchester.”

“The last time we shared a two minute conversation, you humiliated me _and_ Midnight Matters on live television.” Dean kept the entrance blocked, but feared that she would force herself in. To him, the woman was more than a reckoning. “I mean, in the end, he had you for dinner, but that’s not the point.”

Just as predicted, the woman ducked under his arm and slipped behind him with ease. Dean frowned and shut the door with great resentment.

“You are proud of him,” she said.

“Insanely.”

Bela was foreign in his living room. Her pencil skirt and up-tilted chin alone set her apart. She picked apart the lacking décor with her eyes, inch by inch.

“Why are you in my house?” Dean asked.

“You aren’t going to offer me a drink?”

“Drinks are for guests, not interlopers.”

Bela rolled her eyes and tossed her hair and it took every fiber of Dean’s willpower to not projectile launch her thin frame right out the door.

“I am only here to clarify something.”

“I can only imagine,” Dean snapped, fetching himself a beer and taking a long sip in front of her. “And let me guess, anything I say can and will be used against me in your gossip column.”

“I have learned rather quickly not to openly speak about the two of you.”

“Because of him?”

“No.” Bela brushed her skirt, as if to wipe away Dean’s hostility. “You have passionate fans.”

Dean smiled.

“Don’t look so smug. You win. You can run away with Mr. Midnight Matters and I won’t say a damn thing.”

“Then why are you here?” Dean asked.

“Why didn’t you accept my offer for a drink?”

Dean thought back on that day he saw the woman standing in a grocery isle, reaching with long arms for something still unobtainable. Mainly, he remembered the viper curve of her back.

“You looked dishonest.”

Bela laughed- a full-body, head thrown back gesture. “Well, you’re keen.”

“Thank you?”

“If you’ve changed your mind, I could still use one,” Bela said.

Dean caved but would never amount it to kindness, rather than something mutual.

When Bela cracked open her beer, she and Dean tapped the necks of their bottles together.

“It’s been wild, Dean Winchester.”

“There’s no other possible word for it, Miss Talbot.”

The two stood, neither willing to get comfortable.

“Do you know his name?” Bela asked after an extended silence.

“Yes,” Dean said. He wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t be.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

 “Do you love the guy?”

“Does the whole world know?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Bela said.

Another silence overcame them, until the last of the drinks slipped down their throats.

-

The studio was cold. A note was tacked to the door, stating that the heat would be up and running once again come the following week. Castiel kept his coat and old, leather gloves on during the show. It was not the same welcoming atmosphere that he craved when anywhere else. It was frigid, and smelled like the copper of winter.

“I think we all know what passing is,” he said, sinking back against his chair. It held him up faithfully.  “We have watched it occur around us.”

It was at the moment Castiel realized he could trace the scratches in the desk with his eyes closed, and for the most part, recall their creation.  

“The lights that pass overhead on the dark highway. The shoulders that brush just barely in the street. Lives that are rich and beautiful, flickering out like a burned up candle.”

The cold diluted everything, even the hot glow of the _‘On Air’_ sign. The buzz in the left ear of his headphones hummed. It had always been there. Yet, the most familiar of it all was the glorious solitude of being observed by the faceless. 

“Nothing just exists. Everything has a beginning, and unfortunately an end. A cup of coffee. A chocolate bar. A radio show.” Castiel took a moment to compose himself. “I am ashamed to say that Midnight Matters is approaching its grand finale. I know some of you will be disappointed, as you should be. But listeners, I ask you one last favor.”

Castiel waited, let the responding quiet be his indicator to continue.  

“Make it as if I never told you anything but this.” Castiel wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “There is nothing _fucking_ wrong with you. My listeners, know that I am far more grateful for your companionship than you could ever be of mine. This show is ridiculed for catering to the lonely, and that is true. It caters to the loneliest of them all.”

Castiel sighed and raised his hand, for none to see.

“That would be me. So, move on. Find someone worthy of your time, for I fear that I am not, and never have been.”

A part of Castiel expected the call- the same part that expected it every single night. Dean was a habit hard to overcome.

“Hello,” Castiel said, with a tired voice. He knew who was on the line, but not what to say.

 “ _How could you undervalue yourself like that?”_ Dean asked. He sounded angry, the wet kind of angry that clogged both the throat and the eyes.

“Dean…”

_“We need you,”_

Castiel felt the words claw at him, threatening to break him down. “I’ve got a new show,” he said.

“ _I need you,_ ” Dean said.

Castiel let the dead air hang between them. He felt no threat from Crowley or anybody enough to force his words. He had none to offer. A man having spoken for ten consecutive years, fallen quiet.

After a moment, Dean spoke up again, but his voice hardened the way Castiel hadn’t heard it since the day he first heard it.

“ _If you’re ever in need of anything, like someone to love you, don’t hesitate to call me.”_

The line disconnected.

“Dean?” Castiel whispered. “Dean?”

The weight of Dean’s parting words settled on Castiel’s shoulders, beside every other expectation and ultimatum so that his back might break.

“Dean, please call me back.”

The line stayed quiet- it was the beginning of a future of silence.

-

The room was dim. One of the two bulbs in the lamp blew out. It cast its weakening glow over Dean’s sparse living space. It lit the picture of Mary on the night stand and the worn-out comforter that sat bunched at the foot of the bed. The walls were painted with the shadow of Dean marching to and from his dresser- the black cut-out nearly frantic.

There was a stickiness to his cheeks and redness bleeding at the corners of his swollen eyes. His hands work diligently, shoving poorly folded clothes into his overnight bag.

"Get off the path," Dean whispered to himself, shouldering the bag.

Desperation drove his footsteps, like rusted cogs fighting against the reality of their defectiveness- down the stairs, and out the door.

 


	16. Love is resilient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, in the never-ending stretch of industry- past fields and trees and dirt roads and people coming to terms with themselves for the first time- somewhere, was Dean, and wherever he was, Castiel wanted to be there, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY GUYS- I have stated before on my tumblr http://malicelikestowrite.tumblr.com/ and on previous chapters, but this is NOT the last chapter. I mean, it IS in the sense of the major conflicts are being resolved, but there will be an epilogue towards the end of the month so stick around for that! ALso, thanks so much to my Beta, Melinda- this story would be nothing without you. Let me know what you think, this has been one hell of a journey!

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas - Chapter 16 - Love is resilient

 

Dean hated airplanes.

There was something unsettling about 487.5 tons of steel and human mass soaring through the air. Not to mention the stewardesses were a false friendly in their inch heels and pomade buns and the pretzels were gone before the airport was out of sight- not that Dean was able to look out the window at all. If the tickets weren’t paid for already and his decision to go so last-minute, Dean would have taken the Impala. The only thing more perturbing than being on the plane was the prospect of a returning flight.

Maybe he could catch a bus.

It was wistful. Dean was high-tailing it to a foreign city to meet a virtual stranger- but he wasn’t really a stranger. You don’t tell a stranger the things Dean did. You don’t dream about them or the rumble of their voice or what they would be like to touch.

You don’t love a stranger.  

By that point, it was New York or bust. If the plane did somehow spontaneously drop out of the sky, then he would crawl out of the wreckage and limp to the Empire State building. Dean was good at being disappointed, but he was never the one to go back on his word.

Dean would be there, and Cas…

Dean would be there.

-

New York City was a dirty beautiful. Outside the Penn Station (where Dean had stopped for breakfast - which he could barely keep down), Dean gazed upon the phenomenon that was a world-famous skyline. He wanted to reach up and trace its edge with his finger. The streets, crammed bumper to bumper with cars, let out one long, continuous groan that always sounded between beginning and finishing.  It was electric and loud and smelled of turbine and Indian incense and Dean was lost in its vastness.

People filtered out of the double doors behind him and, like the spark of fireflies in the evening, disappeared into various taxi cabs. Dean followed, but found that each time he approached one of the vehicles, a stranger would appear and slip inside, driving off into the sea of sounds. One at a time, the cabs were there and gone and Dean stood at the edge of the sidewalk, a hand half-raised.

"Taxi!" A woman beside him shouted, her arm stretched high in the air. Like clockwork, a cab appeared for her.

Dean cleared his throat and stuck his arm out. "Taxi!"

As if by some otherworldly force, a cab pulled up and Dean dove for the door.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"The Empire State Building, please."

"You bet," he said.

The raging of the city was muffled behind the closed doors and Dean could finally breath, If only long enough to begin panicking over what may or may not be waiting for him.

-

It was not as though Dean imagined it would be different than all of the movies, but he didn’t expect the Empire State Building to be exactly the same, only so much larger. He could not tilt his head back far enough to see its very top and the elevator ride up was crowded and endless. Pressed against various strangers and having his bag searched was not how Dean preferred his Saturday mornings, but he would concede given the particular circumstances.

At the top, the view was incredible- Dean knew it would be, and even his crippling sense of vertigo couldn’t ruin the moment he first glanced over the edge. Dean could see the whole world, but not whom he sought. Among the crowd were children and couples alike, but no tan trench coat or rusted chocolate voice.

Dean set his overnight bag down and prepared himself to wait. It was morning and the day would be long.

-

Naomi was all that Castiel had imagined- from her grey-pressed suit to her tightly-clipped hair. She shook his hand for only a moment before wiping it with the napkin at her seat. Castiel didn’t like the way she kept her nose high and shoulders pulled back, but Balthazar gave him a stern look that said, behave, or I’ll pave the sidewalk with your leftovers, so Castiel obeyed and sat, placing his wallet on the table.   

“I’ve heard many things about you, Mr. Novak,” Naomi said, not looking up from her embroidered menu.

“I fear to ask,” Castiel said.

“That is probably in your best interest.”

He sat, quiet. Around the table, introductions were made, each as curt and formal as the last. The most courteous was a man named Gadreel, who although didn’t smile, dressed casually and engaged immediately in conversation.

“I listen to your show,” he said upon taking Castiel’s hand. “You offer quality.”

“Hopefully that quality can be extended to this project,” Castiel said.

“I must say, I will miss Midnight Matters, but the prospect of working together is thrilling.”

“And what do you do?” Castiel asked.

“I write the program.”

Castiel froze. “It’s scripted?”

“Technically, it’s outlined. The station wants to keep a general tab on the subject and connotation. But if you ask me,” Gadreel leaned closer over the table. Castiel leaned in as well. “It’s much more boring.”  

Castiel couldn’t remember the last time Crowley had strictly monitored his show for content. As long as the numbers were good, Crowley was good. There would be no tangents, no outbursts or declaratives that developed in the moment. There would be no callers, no Dean…

“It will be good to have a guide. It would be a shame to reiterate yourself,” Naomi said.

“I find that having a topic gives opportunity for the message to develop among myself as the host and the audience as they interact,” Castiel replied. He shifted in his seat, the upholstered chair was a new experience and made it difficult for him to settle.  

“I’m sure you are aware from your own experience with Midnight Matters, but the audience often contributes little and becomes dried out- old news.”

Castiel cocked his head. “No. I’m actually not sure if I follow.”

“For example- Mr. Lawrence, Kansas.”

“You mean Dean,” Castiel said. He sat back and crossed his arms.

“He made for great interest in the beginning, but as the months passed, it got old.”

“Old,” Castiel repeated. There was a stickiness in the back of his throat.

Naomi waved away the waiter after he placed her food in front of her. She examined it, and then continued. “I am certain that the audience appreciated your sympathy far more than Dean himself. In fact, Dean could have been anyone, and the result would have been the same. It was kind of you, to extend that pity, but it’s over now. You might consider yourself free.”

Castiel slouched his shoulders and slumped his back while Naomi remained her perfect, unperturbed posture. “I was free,” Castiel said. “Dean wasn’t dry or boring. He brought life to Midnight Matters- he brought hope and ambition to the listeners.”

Balthazar placed a hand on his arm. Castiel deigned to let it quiet him.

Naomi arched an eyebrow. “It is clear that you have feelings about the matter, but one cannot allow their feelings to jeopardize the quality of their work.” her eyes bore through Castiel. “There is no room in the media for love.”

“Who said anything about love?” Castiel asked.

Dean had.

Love. The word meant so much but there was something recognizable about how Dean said it. It scratched at the back of Castiel’s mind. He sliced and sectioned off his food, but ate none of it.

Balthazar scooted closer to whisper, “You’re cutting up your peas.”

“Not everything spoken on your show is said out loud,” Gadreel said, timid. Naomi’s face went sour at his contribution to the topic. “Sometimes you have to interpret it.”

Interpet… Dean had said love. What did that mean? What could it have meant? Did Castiel imagine what he had seen with Lisa? He couldn’t have- the pain was incredibly real.

“What is your thought on the matter, Castiel?” Gadreel asked.

Dean Winchester said that if he ever needed something, like someone to love-

“It’s An Affair to Remember,” Castiel said, his knife and fork hovering over his plate, eyes wide and unfocused. Gadreel’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Hmn?” Balthazar asked.

“What Dean said. It was a quote from An Affair to Remember.”

“Are we still talking about Dean?” Naomi asked, taking a sip of her champagne and letting out an extended sigh.

Castiel’s chair let out a terrible screech as he stood, shoving it back. “I’m sorry,” he said.

"What?"

"I'm sorry,” he repeated. “But I must decline your offer. I'm rather content with my slot and have no desire to, as you put it, upgrade. I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to and I must be going." With that, he made a quick exit from the table.

He wasn’t halfway across the room when Balthazar gripped his arm. “This isn’t a gamble worth taking,” he hissed, darting his eyes back to the table where Naomi and the others watched with sour expressions.

“It’s the only gamble I’ve ever cared about,” Castiel said, ripping away.

When Balthazar called out, “You forgot your wallet!” Castiel was already out the door.

Please be there, he thought. Please.

-

When Castiel arrived, the entirety of the lobby was packed with guests. He lost ten minutes alone being patted down at the security station, and once he was deemed free to pass, he shoved and shouldered about, weaving through bodies to find the elevator. The majority of them were leaving and not happy about his opposition to the flow of traffic. Still, Castiel persisted until he broke through the crowd at its end.

The guard that stood at the door was tall and as thin as a toothpick. He didn’t look able to intimidate a particularly sensitive rabbit, let alone a man. From his tweed pants to his uniform jacket, he looked like the sort that people enjoyed pushing over. To top it off, the name-tag pinned to his button-up read Garth.

“Where is your ticket?” Garth asked. His smile was not forced, rather, contained- like he had to make a point of not being too excited.

Castiel froze in his place. “I don’t have one,” he said, and dug around in his pockets. It was after they came up empty that he recalled setting his wallet on the edge of the restaurant table and then not grabbing it as he fled.

“I can’t let you up without a ticket,” Garth said, crossing his arms. He looked sad for him.

“Listen,” Castiel said. “This might be the most important decision I have ever made, and if I can’t get up there,” he pointed to the ceiling. “I’ll never know if it was the right one.”

At first, Garth’s expression was sympathetic, but as Castiel spoke, his eyes slowly began to widen.

"Wait a minute!” Garth pointed directly at Castiel’s face. “I know you! You’re Mr. Midnight Matters."

“Yes!” Castiel shouted. “Yes! That’s me! I need to go-”

“To see Dean?” Garth asked. Castiel wasn’t sure who was more excited, himself or the guard.

“Yes! Dean!”

"It's like that movie!"

"What?"

"An Affair to Remember!"

“Yes. It is!” The two had somehow engaged in a shouting match.

“Well, what’re you standing around here for?” Garth guffawed. “Go get 'im!”

The elevator could not arrive fast enough, and as the doors closed behind him, Garth waved Castiel away. It was his first time meeting a listener, other than Dean, face to face. As his heart pounded, he wondered why he ever even considered cancelling his show.

-

Castiel held his breath as the doors slid open, revealing the light pink of the evening sky. The people were far fewer than those on the ground floor, and they stood scattered across the viewing ledge. Some were alone, contemplating as they looked down at the world. Some were together, hands interwoven.

None of them were Dean.

Castiel paced from end to end, craning his neck in case he had somehow missed some corner. He never even looked over the edge- too busy searching. Around his fourth lap, he stopped in his tracks-

Dean wasn’t there.  

Did he really think that the man would be? Aside from the fact that they never explicitly agreed to meet, a time was never even mentioned in passing. But still, Castiel had hoped.

He thought it had been a sign.

With dejection weighing down his shoulders, Castiel wandered to the ledge and looked through the bars at the expansive, leaden stretch of buildings. It was different than looking down from a plane. Castiel had never felt higher- never felt freer. He could see the entire world if only he would squint and try.

Anything was possible- accessible.

Somewhere, in the never-ending stretch of industry- past fields and trees and dirt roads and people coming to terms with themselves for the first time- somewhere, was Dean, and wherever he was, Castiel wanted to be there, too.  

The sunset was all it needed to be and the people dwindled and Castiel was so in love with Dean that it might destroy him- reduce his insides to ashes to scatter in the name of self help radio. And yet, so far, he'd helped all but himself. And Dean, who was by every possible definition, deserving- Castiel nearly gave up on him.

Love is resilient. Thousands of miles could not wear it down nor stretch it thin. It persevered, and Castiel, too, would persevere.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Crowley. The man didn’t answer, and Castiel let out a relieved sigh.

“This is Castiel Novak,” he told the voicemail. “I would like to come in as soon as possible to discuss my contract renewal. Give me a call.”

Looking back out at the skyline, he knew what had to happen next. He had to go back to Lawrence. Wherever Dean was, he would go.

As Castiel turned to leave, he nearly slid stepping on something solid. It was a wallet- old and well-loved at the edges. Castiel picked it up and stroked its still warm leather and was reminded how he himself had been recently separated from his own.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat, “Excuse me, that’s my wal-”

Castiel whipped around.

Dean was standing there, hands in his pockets and coat buttoned tightly. His eyes were wet and beautiful in the poor lighting and Castiel was swept away by the perfect curve of his lashes. Even from where he stood, he could see them bat as Dean tried to blink back tears. From his freckles to his broad shoulders, Dean was all that Castiel remembered him to be, but far more beautiful.

In the entirety of the world and the blasting horns and all the visions yet to be seen, Castiel looked at the single, most precious thing, and Dean looked back, finally, with true clarity. In the wisps of the freezing air, snowflakes began to fall. The wind wrapped them up, and Castiel thought back on what Gabriel had once told him and nearly laughed. His brother had been right- it felt like he was a thousand feet in the air.

“It's you,” Dean said. His voice was choked.

“It's me,” Castiel whispered. He wanted nothing more than to lay a hand on Dean’s overgrown stubble.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean said, walking closer. “I knew it was you.”

“You did?”

Dean’s hands rose up, slowly, with hesitation, before settling against the sides of Castiel’s face. The touch was tender, and Castiel felt Dean would always hold him up. Dean examined Castiel, from his brow to his sandpaper, squared jaw. “Six feet, blue eyes…” His voice wavered. “A hundred and seventy-five pounds.”

“Dean…” Castiel murmured.

“How could I not know it was you, Cas?”

Castiel couldn’t take it. His entire life had been second-hand love and disappointing nights alone and Dean was there and everything just made perfect sense. He grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket and dragged him into a kiss. The hands that rested against Castiel’s face slipped back and wrapped around his neck with alarming grip. Dean held onto him like he was the edge of a cliff- the last glimpse of freedom- a fresh sip of water. With nowhere to go, they pushed against each other, and Castiel caressed Dean’s tongue with his own just before giving it a sweet suckle.

Dean let out a broken sound and a harsh breath from his nose that was warm on Castiel’s cheeks. Almost simultaneously, they separated just enough to start laughing. Dean’s was breathy and Castiel’s was terrified, but they rested their foreheads together and laughed and held each other and let the snowflakes melt against their skin.  

-

Central Park at night was a visual paroxysm of lights woven through branches like dragons with glittering shards of diamonds that lay on each leaf. They cast orange and pink and red pigments across the pavement and the skin of those that wandered through the cove. It was a man-made wonderland. Night was not present in the confines of the trees- instead a glorious paradise- a promised land.

Unlike the exposure of the Empire State, the park, specifically adorned for the Valentine’s day weekend, was disconnected, isolated, nirvana. In the midst of New York City itself, Dean and Castiel found a moment of privacy.

They walked under the watercolor halo, side by side, just out of reach. Still, they took turns sneaking glances at each other, and when they happened upon a particularly intricate light set-up, they’d stop at stare at it and inch closer.

“I never thought this was my sort of thing,” Dean said.

Castiel eyed his companion’s limp and rather empty hand. “Is it?”

“I think so.”

Castiel wanted to take it, to hold it, to feel the no-doubt cold of his skin. Castiel wanted to warm Dean’s gloveless fingers with his own.

It was Dean who reached out and took not Castiel’s hand, but the curve of his wrist.

“You were there,” Dean said. The glassiness had returned to his eyes. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was scared.”

Dean pulled him closer. “Didn’t you trust me?”

“Of course I did.” Castiel was appalled at the accusation. Dean melted at the fire in his gleaming eyes.

"Then why?" he asked, loosening his grip. Castiel's arm stayed limp in his hold, like he didn't mind it being there- wanted it to be there. Even such a brief and benevolent touch proved that Dean was real and that Castiel would not wake on his couch alone and old and full of regret.

"I wanted to be what you needed," he confessed. "But then I saw Lisa and how happy you were-"

"Lisa?" Dean asked. Castiel had lost him. He hadn't seen Lisa since giving her a ride when her car broke down. He then recalled that day at the garage- while he had thought of it in minute detail every night, forgoing sleep, he had forgotten one simple moment. "You don't mean Jo, do you?"

"Jo?" Castiel asked.

Dean had seen Castiel run away, back to his old and lovely car that was just so him and had never known why. It all became clear, and Dean didn't know whether to be angry or to laugh or to just kiss Castiel again because he wanted to. Dean was ready to finally start getting what he wanted.

"I can't believe you thought Jo was Lisa!" he exclaimed. "There’s nothing between me and Jo. Hell, there’s nothing between me and Lisa." Dean dropped Castiel's arm to reach into his pocket and draw out the wallet the man had so graciously returned to him.

He searched its inner folds until he found, pressed into a perfect square and worn from fingers that unfolded and folded and unfolded it each passing hour, the most important letter ever written. Dean tenderly pulled it’s edges apart and revealed to Castiel the familiar, beautifully-terrible cursive.

Castiel could not bring himself to take it. “I thought you didn’t read them,” he whispered.

“I read yours,” Dean said.

“How did you know it was mine?”

Dean smiled and returned the letter to it’s rightful, permanent home in his wallet. “Because I know you, Cas.” He adjusted a wild strand of hair near Castiel’s temple. “You speak, and for once... for the first time, I listen.”

Castiel’s breath hitched.

“Because my whole life I’ve been trying to be someone my dad could love… to be someone Sam could love… and now,” Dean brushed the back of of his knuckles along the side of Castiel’s face. “I can’t imagine being anything but someone that you could love- and for the first time, I don’t feel like I have to change myself.”

“You don’t,” Castiel said. He reached up and wound fingers through Dean’s and let his face rest against their union. “Your perfections are endless and I want for nothing but to discover them all.”

“Shut up,” Dean said. He took Castiel’s jaw in his hand and drew him in for a kiss.  It was different than before- languid, gentle… Dean wondered how many different ones he would come to know and Castiel… he let himself be washed away by the tide.

The whole story was ridiculous. One lonely man from Kansas, a lonelier one from Washington, finally unified in the volatile stench of New York. Their skin- their breath- the fibres of all that become them- coalesced. The future- uncertain, but never more anticipated.

  
  
  



	17. Goodnight America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean didn’t like goodbyes, and all Castiel ever really knew were goodbyes. The two of them were forced to meet in the middle, Dean saying not goodbye but until next time and Castiel accepting that somehow he had found himself in more permanent company. When Dean verbalized his disinclination to board the plane, Castiel pretended it was because of his fear of the flying death-trap, but knew it was only his reluctance to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so so so so sorry that this is so late. Life exploded for me, and I have been all over the place, doing so many things! It's done now! I'm sorry that took me so long. I hope you like it. This has been one hell of a journey for me. When I first had the idea for this, I had no idea how it would all play out, but here it is. Now my heart is empty with nothing to fill it. :((((

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas - Epilogue - Goodnight, America

 

The terrible thing about summer was its scathing iron grip. Although mornings weren’t quite as awful, July was still the hottest month in Lawrence, and the heat thermals seeped through the walls and the cracks in the curtains while Castiel lay in bed- covers cast to the floor. The sweat on his arms and neck did little to cool him in the eighty-five degree heat, nearly twenty degrees hotter than the hottest days in Seattle.

Castiel rolled out of bed, peeling away from the sheets like a second skin. He searched the ground for his boxers, but settled for digging through Dean’s drawer and snatching a pair of his. Castiel’s were probably in the living room, if he could recall correctly, and his overnight bag shoved in the depths of the closet. He’d have to pack it up soon, but the drag of the morning and the strange cacophony echoing from beyond the door weighed heavily.

He grabbed a shirt- grey and large, and slipped it on. The angry rattle of voices beckoned him down the stairs.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with your job- it’s decent work,” John shouted. From where he stayed frozen on the stairs, Castiel scowled. “You think you can just go skipping away into the sunset with your Midnight Mistake and everything is just gonna work out?”

“It is gonna work out,” Dean snapped, dropping a pan onto the stove. “Everything’s gonna be fucking dandy- and you know how I know? Because you won’t be there.”

Castiel shifted, his weight on the stairs let out a gentle groan. John and Dean both turned to stare.

“Good morning,” Castiel said. John recoiled from the sight of the half-dressed man on his son’s staircase. “Dean didn’t mention you would be visiting.” It was not, in any sense their first interaction, or their second, or third, but the chips of ice on the both of their shoulders were bracing as they reared up at each other, Castiel’s back straightening and John’s eyes narrowing.

“Dad,” Dean said.

“I hope you have fun dragging my son around, Castiel,” John hissed. Castiel may have been two steps up, but John was too similar to his own estranged father to feel anything but inadequate. “Because when you’re done, you will have wasted the prime of his life.”

“Dad.”

Castiel had the scathing retort ready on his lips, but John Winchester was already slamming the door behind him. Dean leaned against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose. Castiel slipped next to him.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean said. “He’s an asshole- don’t let him get to you.”

Castiel smiled and ran his hand down Dean’s arm, squeezing gently. “It’s okay,” he said. “None of that is important.”

It was clear that the argument had been extensive. The eggs were already whipped in in a bowl but never made it to the pan and toast was sticking up out of the toaster, getting cold. Castiel turned the stove on and leaned over to pressed a solid kiss at the junction of Dean’s jaw and ear.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, taking the eggs. Dean rested with his arms crossed, expression gentle while Castiel poured the eggs into the pan. “You were making me breakfast?”

“I was making me breakfast. I just figured I may as well feed you while I’m at it.”

Castiel smiled and brushed his hand over Dean’s cheek. “You don’t even like scrambled eggs,” he said. Dean ducked his head to hide his grin, but Castiel saw it. He placed his hands at the dip of Dean’s waist, caging him against the counter. When Dean looked up, Castiel stole another kiss. Behind him,  where Dean’s hands rested on the marble, Castiel slid his to interlock their fingers, despite the twisted, unnatural angle.

Their chests pressed together. Castiel kissed him harder, delved deeper, and inhaled the sweet sharpness of his aftershave.

“The eggs,” Dean murmured. Castiel hushed him and suckled his jaw. “Don’t forget the eggs.”

“I’m not going to forget the eggs, Dean,” Castiel grumbled, squeezing his arms tighter. If he squeezed hard enough, maybe he could draw Dean into himself, absorb all of his aspects, his precious parts… The freckles on his cheekbones and ears and the birthmark on his ribs and the tattoo on his chest… Castiel wanted them all. Dean pulled their hands apart only to wrap his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and stroke his mussed hair. He, too, wanted to be connected.

“It’s a big day,” Castiel whispered.

“Huge,” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t burn the eggs. He and Dean ate them together at the table- their knees brushing one another.

-

“What time is it?” Castiel asked, engaged in battle with his favorite tie. Somehow, it kept getting turned backwards despite his many attempts to guide it correctly.

“10:33,” Dean said, peeking into the bathroom. He slipped in after noticing Castiel’s distress and began fixing the tie himself. “Sam should be here any minute.”

“And Ruby?” Castiel asked.

“I think she’s become a permanent fixture.” Dean gripped the now perfect tie and pulled Castiel in for a quick kiss.

“You’re going to ruin it,” he said, pulling back.

“Shut up, Cas.” Dean kissed him once more before turning to the mirror and running his fingers through his hair.

“You look fine, Dean.”

“I know that,” Dean said. Castiel, from behind, settled his hands on the curve of Dean’s hips.

“Lame,” a voice said from outside the bathroom. Both Castiel and Dean jumped and turned to see Ruby leaning against a bookshelf. “Aren’t you two running late?”

“How the hell did you get in here?” Dean asked, not sounding nearly as surprised as he might have before. “I deadbolted it.”

“She’s got a lock-pick kit,” Sam said, revealing himself. “It’s actually pretty interesting to watch.”

“Can we maybe not break into my house?”

“Better now than half an hour ago,” Castiel said, buttoning his sleeves. “I don’t imagine the sight would have sat well with the two of you.”

Sam buried his face in his hands and Ruby let out a bark of laughter.  

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Sam whined.

“Very eager to get rid of us, isn’t he, Cas?”

“I agree, Dean. Very.”

But Sam wasn’t wrong- Dean and Castiel were running late. The two suitcases against the bed were filled to bursting and still Castiel was shoving last minutes items into a duffel bag. “You’ll take care of things, won’t you?” Dean asked. “And don’t forget to clean under the grills. And if you’re gonna vacuum, make sure you go along the grain and-”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted. “I got this. You have fun.”

“I don’t think he trusts us,” Ruby said, winding an arm through Sam’s.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Castiel murmured. “Dean, the house will be fine. We still need to make a stop so we’ve got to leave right now.”

Dean would have preferred the whole ordeal not be rushed, especially when, at the door, Sam drew him in for a hug. He recalled when it was Sam that had his bags packed and a plane to catch- and now, he wasn’t sure how long it’d be before his saw his mother’s front door again.

“It’s a big day,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I know.”

It was time to leave.

-

The Roadhouse had never been so full. Bodies were pressed into every corner, every chair. The flatscreen TVs on the wall, brand new, glittered with chattering voices. It took a fair amount of elbows to shove their way to where Ellen stood amid the crowd.

“Well look who decided to show his face,” she said, setting her hands on her hips, a dirty washcloth clutched in one. “Mr. Midnight Matters himself.”

“It’s good to see you again, Ellen,” Castiel said, holding out a hand. Ellen ignored it to draw him into a brief and extremely tight hug. “Although I fear it may be the last time for a while.”

“Oh right,” she said. “The third.”

“Yep, the third,” Dean said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Is Jo around?”

“Aw, you remembered little ol’ me?” Jo said, walking out from the back room. “Hey Dean, Cas.”

“Jo,” Castiel smiled and shook her hand. Her grip was firm and left an ache in his palm and it was wonderful- welcoming. Dean swooped in for a hug. “I have your letter.” Castiel pulled an envelope from his back pocket and held it out. “If this doesn’t get you in, I’m sorry but nothing will.”

“Little Jo is going to college. It’s enough to make me weep,” Dean gushed, wiping away an invisible tear.

“With my internship and a recommendation from Mr. Midnight Matters, my acceptance should pretty much be guaranteed.” Jo waved the letter around. “Can I grab you two something to eat?”

“We’re actually leaving,” Dean said.

“Oh, that’s right. The third.” Jo scowled. “You sure about this, Dean?”

“About as sure as anything.”

Jo looked at Dean and saw the boy whose heels she once followed- who scared off the boys at her middle school that harassed her in gym class- who gave her a beer under the shade of the bus stop on friday night when she ran away from home for the first time. “You’re gonna be awesome,” Jo said. “And I’m gonna come see you soon.”

“Not too soon,” Dean said. “School first.”

“School first,” she agreed.

Jo tried to watch them go, but the silhouette of Dean and Castiel as they stepped out into the sun was poignant and she had to look away.

-

“I hate planes,” Dean said.

“I know. You’ve said so a hundred times,” Castiel replied, taking Dean’s luggage from him and tagging it with expert precision.

“Not a hundred. Not yet. Can you please remind me why we can’t drive?”

“Because you refused to leave until Sam got here. He already agreed to bring the Impala up in a few weeks. Don’t worry so much.”

“I always worry about Baby.”

“Baby will be fine.”

“Dean!” Dean and Castiel turned to where the shout rang from just in time for Alex to barrel into the both of them. Her arms, surprisingly, could wrap around the both of their waists. Dean let out a silent, relieved sigh.

“Did you think you’d get away that easy?” Jody said, walking up, Bobby alongside her.  

“You’re late,” Dean said, wrapping his arms around Alex. Castiel pulled away to hug Jody and shake Bobby’s hand. “We need to board.”

“Ungrateful,” Bobby muttered, slapping Dean on the shoulder. “All these years together and you think you can just shrug me off? Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?”

“Very funny,” Dean mocked, but there was weakness in his eyes.

“It’s tonight, right?” Jody asked.

“That is correct,” Castiel said. “Dean? We’ve really got to go.”

“Yeah.” Dean returned the slap to Bobby’s shoulder, but let his hand rest there a moment, squeezing. “You’ll be listening won’t you?”

“Boy, you think I have anything better to do with my night?” Bobby said.

Dean didn’t like goodbyes, and all Castiel ever really knew were goodbyes. The two of them were forced to meet in the middle, Dean saying not goodbye but until next time and Castiel accepting that somehow he had found himself in more permanent company.  When Dean verbalized his disinclination to board the plane, Castiel pretended it was because of his fear of the flying death-trap, but knew it was only his reluctance to leave.

Finally, at last call, Castiel took his hand and lead him aboard.

-

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring an umbrella,” Castiel said. He and Dean were tucked under an overhead as rain poured in torrents onto the street. Where cars swerved by, puddles became sheets splattering on the sidewalk, drenching their feet. “We’re not both going to fit beneath mine.”

“It’s July!” Dean shouted, hardly able to hear even himself over the downpour slapping the ground. “It’s not supposed to storm in July.”

“Normally I would say that this is Seattle and you should have expected this, and yet, I do believe that this is more than the average amount of rain we receive this time of year.” Castiel dropped his duffle bag to the floor, right into a puddle, and unzipped it. “Our wettest months are rarely past spring.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you notice but it’s storming.”

“I noticed.” Castiel took out his trenchcoat- folded into a neat bundle, and shook it out. It unrolled like a scroll. “Come on,” he said, spreading it open at the lapels. “This should get us to the parking lot.”

Dean stood close to Castiel, so close that their shoulders were pressed together, and Castiel drew the coat over the both of their heads. “You think this is gonna work?” Dean asked.

“I have faith,” Castiel replied.

As they dashed out into the storm, they laughed like children playing in the front yard. The coat crinkled where they gripped it- billowing in their wake.

-

The grocery store smelled mostly of the rotisserie chickens that were perfectly crisp along the edges and the over-ripened cotton candy grapes that Dean grabbed two bunches of.

“I’m so tired,” he groaned, resting his folded arms on the bar of the grocery cart. “I need to sleep. The jet lag is killing me.”

“It’s only 2:30,” Castiel said, fishing through a stack of zucchini. He held them up, one at a time, turning and examining them closely. Dean is certain he’d seen the same look of concentration on brain surgeons. FInally, Castiel selected two.

“TIme zones are a thing, Cas,” Dean whined, resting his forehead on his arms. “Planes wreck me. It’s not natural.”

“Mushrooms?” Castiel asked.

“Gross.”

“Bell peppers?”

“God, yes.”

Castiel held each out to Dean, who leaned closed and inhaled deeply. He veto’d several, before finding those with the most perfect, succulent scent. In the end, they placed two plump red and a single green one into the cart.

“What were you saying?” Castiel asked, dragging the cart and Dean further down the isle.  

“I’m just saying that I’m tired. Why couldn’t we nap first?” Dean asked. He grabbed a box of crackers and a can of spray cheese and added them to the cart.

“Because there is virtually no food at my place.” Castiel took the spray cheese back out, but left the crackers. As they wheeled away, Dean looked back and sighed. “Stop being over dramatic,” Castiel said. “Now, help me find pluots.”

“You have to get pluots?” Dean asked. “I don’t even know what a pluot is.”

“It is a staple.” Castiel scowled at bins of plums and apricots. “I need ten.”

“You need ten,” Dean repeated. “Ten pluots.”

“You can get some too, if you wish.”

Dean scoffed. “You were going to eat all ten?”

Castiel walked back to Dean and rested his chin on his shoulder. “All ten,” he agreed.

Dean kissed his forehead and rested his cheek against it. “Well, I guess we better find those… what are they?”

“Pluots.”

“Pluots, then.”

Castiel hid his smile in Dean’s shoulder.

-

“Five months together and this is the first time I’ve been here,” Dean said, setting his luggage down at the door. “Weird.”

“Getting you on a plane is a far greater challenge than just taking one myself,” Castiel said. He flipped the lights on and looked around the apartment. It was as plain as when he had left it, save scattered trash on the coffee table. “My brother has been staying here, so sorry about the garbage.”

“Where is he?” Dean asked, unpacking the groceries in the kitchen. The fridge beforehand consisted only of a carton of milk and various take-out boxes.

It was the same apartment, but with Dean standing there, Castiel could see it in a new light. Maybe the walls were too bare. maybe he could come up with something to dress them with

“Who knows. Probably out with a woman.” After everything was put away, Castiel led Dean back to the bedroom, where the covers were long untouched.

“Thank God,” Dean said, pulling off his shoes.  He could hear the mattress formally inviting him over and he was more than eager to oblige. “I’m exhausted.” He crawled in from the foot of the bed, collapsing against a pillow. Beside him, Castiel undid his button-up before crawling in as well. The two lay stiff like floorboards, side-by-side, even as the light filtered in through the shutters.

“Cas?” Dean whispered.

“Yes, Dean?”

“This bed is awful.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “It’s the worst.” He rolled onto his side to face him. “I much prefer the couch.”

With that, Dean sat up and, Castiel at his heels, and marched back into the living room to throw himself on the couch. The cushions gave a gentle exhale as they sunk beneath him. So did he.  

“Hey,” Castiel hissed. “Make room.”

Dean didn’t move so much as tilt his body just enough for Castiel to wedge himself beside him. It was, thankfully, a very large couch, but still, the fit was tight. Dean could feel Castiel’s breath on his neck and chin and the press of his thighs against his and Castiel had to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist to ensure that he would not fall.

“This is so much better,” Dean said.

“I know.” Castiel scraped his sandpaper jaw along the juncture of Dean’s clavicle. “I spent every night on this couch.”

“Yeah,” Dean arched his neck as Castiel placed a scatter of kisses across it. “It smells like you.”

“Don’t be weird, Dean,” Castiel teased. He cradled Dean in his hold and slipped his thumb under the waistband of his jeans, venturing further down to grip his ass. Dean huffed.

“Cas! I’m way too tired to take part in this,” he whined, shifting as his pants grew stiff.

“Let me take care of you, then.” Castiel slipped a second hand into Dean’s pants and pulled their groins closer- grinding them together.

“That’s not fair to you,” Dean mumbled, his eyes screwed shut and his hands wandering to grip Castiel’s shoulders.

“Dean?” He grinded forward again.

“Yeah?”

“Hush.”

Dean’s muscles uncoiled and coiled back like a spring as Castiel slid his hands completely around his hips until they were buried in the front of his boxers, pressing against his dick. His body gave the barest thrash as Castiel licked his ear then shushed him softly.

“I love you,” Castiel whispered, rubbing his palm against him. “Dean Winchester… My sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas…”

Dean shuddered and whimpered again. Castiel consumed his little noises. Finally, the button on his jeans was snapped open and the ring of his zipper being dragged down was sharp and loud. Dean wanted so much to let go of everything- to fade into the fingernails that grazed at the inside of his thighs and shimmied his pants down his hips.

“Cas…” he hissed as he was exposed. Castiel kissed him until the name was an echo, winding his fingers into his hair and rutting almost too slowly. “Me too,” Dean said in the very brief moments that their lips were apart. “Me too.”  

Castiel pulled back, staring into Dean’s large and glistening eyes. He cupped his face with one hand and with the other, took Dean’s cock and gave it a firm and teasing tug. Dean gasped and his eyes slid shut.

“No,” Castiel whispered. “Look at me.” As he began to jerk him steadily, Dean’s eyes unscrewed as if it were the most painful thing he’d ever done, and Castiel had never seen an expression more beautiful than Dean’s twisted into a tired pleasure. “My Dean,” he said, voice shaking. It was like holding onto a dream- fearing that he’d open his eyes and be alone again… that the voice he heard crumble beneath his touch would be nothing but a radio wave- lost in the void of space, existing all around him but never with him. “My Dean,” he repeated, and Dean came, crying out.

“Cas…” Dean buried himself into Castiel. His whole body quaked from the pleasure that pulsed through him. Even as it faded to a gentle hum, the heat stayed in his limbs, swaying him to sleep.

Castiel was a firm believer in many things. He believed that a kind word could save a life, that God was out there, somewhere, and he had to be looking out for them, somehow, but in that moment, he could not imagine the universe being anything other Dean and the way his hands curled into loose fists as he dreamt.

-

Dean came to at the feeling of a warm palm rubbing his side… where he was ticklish.

“What?” He gasped, jerking away from the touch.

“Dean?” Castiel whispered, grazing his cheek with a knuckle. “It’s ten. We’ve got to go.”

Dean dragged himself into a strange state of waking- blinking and darting his eyes around the unfamiliar room. “Cas?” He muttered through his sleep-clogged throat.

“It’s ten,” Castiel repeated. “We both need a shower and then we’ve got to go.”

“Oh.” Dean dragged himself up, cringing at the cold and disgusting mess at his crotch and stomach. “Ew.”

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel urged, stripping out of his own pants right there in the living room. “Shower.”

Dean would go, but he didn’t waste the opportunity to watch Castiel discard his trousers and walk bare-skinned out of the room.

-

Castiel’s favorite thing about the scenario was the translucent blanket of gold that settled over Dean’s freckled skin. The two cups of half-caf joe on the desk still emitted ropes of steam that tumbled up into the air like acrobats. The chair Dean sat in was new and smelled like factory leather. Their headphones secured neatly against their ears, both leaning into the microphone as if to confess a long-hidden secret. "Personally,” Dean said. “I say this guy sounds like a dick, and I think you deserve to be treated better.” Dean glanced over to see Castiel watching him, his expression soft. “You shouldn't feel the need to change yourself because someone doesn't like you. Change should be something that betters you as a person, not for the benefit of others. Don't you agree, Cas?"

"Dean is right,” Castiel said. “There is nothing more precious than your sense of self. It’s Independence day. Think of this day as your own. Reclaim yourself and all of your self-worth.”

The woman on the end of the line sniffled. "I can’t thank you enough, Cas, Dean."

"It's our pleasure. You've been listening to Midnight Matters," Dean said.

"Where nothing is more important than a compassionate ear," Castiel added.

The two shot each other a sweet, side-eye. Dean's seemed even more green than usual in the dim, iridescent light and Castiel's like the sun on a surface of clear water. Around them, the studio pulsed with two off-kilter heartbeats and the 'On Air' sign not only glowed, but beamed.

"Goodnight, America,” Castiel said. “It's time to sleep."

  



End file.
